


Entangled

by anonymousheroine



Series: A Thief's End [1]
Category: Criminal Minds (US TV)
Genre: Alternative Universe - FBI, Angst and Feels, Behavioral Analysis Unit (Criminal Minds), Boss/Employee Relationship, Crime Fighting, Crimes & Criminals, F/M, Friends With Benefits, Hate Sex, Hurt No Comfort, Implied/Referenced Terrorism, Kidnapping, Light Bondage, Light Dom/sub, Love/Hate, No Strings Attached, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Porn With Plot, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Psychological Torture, Psychological Trauma, Reader-Insert, Shameless Smut, Slow Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-05
Updated: 2020-08-15
Packaged: 2021-03-05 22:22:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 48,611
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25732792
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anonymousheroine/pseuds/anonymousheroine
Summary: They bring you in for a crime you didn't commit. Then, they ask you to stay and help. This is how you end up working for the Behavioral Analysis Unit of the FBI…and getting completely entangled by Aaron Hotchner.
Relationships: Aaron Hotchner/Reader
Series: A Thief's End [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1889725
Comments: 74
Kudos: 265





	1. Bling Bling

**Author's Note:**

> "Good artists borrow. Great artists steal." - Pablo Picasso

Ever wonder what it feels like to be ambushed in your apartment by the FBI? 

It's...pretty embarrassing, especially when you're getting put in handcuffs right as the microwave is going off for your frozen TV dinner and you're wearing nothing but a giant t-shirt with a band you don't even listen to on it. 

"Can I at least put on pants?" You ask as they drag you out of your apartment, "I guess that's a no…" 

You sit in the back of a police car, listening in on the scanner. You know that the FBI are here, investigating those murders. 

How did they end up getting you wrapped up into it, you have no idea… 

All you know is that you're freezing and this interrogation chair is made of the coldest metal your bare ass has ever encountered. 

"I don't want to be here," you tell them, tugging on the handcuffs that held you to the interview table, "you've got the wrong person." 

"Do we?" The man in the suit asks, leaning forward, "we have reason to believe that-"

"Get the fuck out of my face, Agent Hotchner," you practically spit on him, making him back up. He seems surprised that you know his name, to which you respond, "yeah, I know who you are and Agent Morgan. I got ears." 

"We just want to ask you a few questions," Morgan tries to calm you down and you roll your eyes at both of them. 

"You want to ask me a few questions?" You pose back, "how about I ask a few of my own instead: you've brought me here because I fit your profile, correct? I know what the B.A.U does, so lay it on me." 

Hotchner crosses his arm, answering bluntly, "you hit every mark." 

"Let me guess then," you outright reply, "you're looking for a woman. Late twenties, early thirties. Someone with a record. Petty theft. Home robberies. Small stuff, mostly during adolescent years. Things that can be easily erased, especially if she had money. Someone with a high paying job or someone who is wealthy but not overtly, probably rich parents, using inheritance money. How else could she go undetected into each and every high-end jewelry store in New York City? She must've spent time there. Purchased things. Maybe she's even pocketed a few of those things without anyone ever noticing. Does that sound right to you?"

Morgan turns to Hotchner. They make eye contact. A couple of raised eyebrows. They looked concerned. 

It's because they know you're right. 

So, you throw them the curveball.

"Except," you add, "that you guys have no idea why this woman has escalated from theft to murder. What's her motive? Why does she kill the owners _after she's already stolen the jewelry?_ Does she do it out of compulsion? Does she find some kind of sexual release from the murders? Why have all her murders _been men?_ And lastly, why the hell am I here when I haven't done anything to warrant my arrest!" 

"You know why you're here," Morgan states and you groan, kicking the table, irritated that they keep the interrogation room so damn cold! 

Hotcher then calmly pulls out a photo from the case file. It's of a Rolex on the dead victim's wrist. 

"We found your fingerprints on the watch our latest victim was wearing when he died," he states, "not only that, we found partial fingerprints on several other items, at all the other crime scenes."

"So, what happened? You slip up?" Morgan tries to rile you up but you just roll your eyes at him.

"Give me your victim's list," you gesture and Morgan slaps the table with it. 

You scan the names and you click your tongue, then chuckle. They stare at you, puzzled at your actions. 

"Anyone got a pen?" You look at both Hotchner and Morgan. They look skeptical and you say with raised eyebrows, "you really think I'm gonna harm either of you with a pen, _while I'm handcuffed?_ " 

After a bit of hesitation, Hotchner hands you a pen from his jacket pocket and you scribble something beside each name on the list, handing it back to them. 

"Tell them to check and see if my fingerprints were on each of these items belonging to the victims," you slide the paper back over to them. 

"Why should we?" Morgan asks, "why not just admit to the murders? What game are you trying to play?" 

"If I'm a murderer trying to not get caught, why would I leave fingerprints at the scene? And, why would I know every single item that I left fingerprints on? Also, if I really did commit the crime, I have the money to ask for a lawyer. I wouldn't be stupid enough to speak with you both right now," you rebuttal harshly. 

Hotchner gets up and leaves the room with your marked up list. You and Morgan sit, glaring at one another for a while before Hotchner comes back, gripping the list in his fist, saying, "how did you know?" 

You smirk and fold your arms, which only go so far with the handcuffs, before saying, "I won't talk until you take these damn things off me." 

"Uncuff her," Hotchner directs Morgan, much to his dismay. 

"She's a suspect!" Morgan speaks up. 

"We both know she only fits the partial profile and some fingerprints, we can't hold her off just that," Hotchner replies. "Especially when she's willing to talk." 

Morgan groans then reaches over to uncuff you, letting you rest your sore wrists, as he states, "you better start talking." 

"You know what the value is on this Rolex," you slide the photo back over to Morgan and Hotchner, pointing at it. 

"I don't know, how much?" Morgan seems unamused by your questioning. 

"This retails for ten million dollars," you explain, "one of a kind, specially made. His wife bought it for him for his birthday. Look, I ain't one to judge, but ten million dollars on a watch is a little excessive, don't you think-"

"Why is this information relevant!" Morgan presses you furiously and you roll your eyes again.

"When you buy something expensive, what do you tend to do in case it gets stolen?" You ask Morgan, though your eyes are on Hotchner. 

"I'd get insurance," Morgan says flatly.

"Bingo," you tell them with a smile. "Now, picture this, I got insurance but my watch still gets stolen and, like I said, it's a ten million dollar watch. One of a kind. That's not really something insurance is going to be able to fully replace, is it?" 

"What are you getting at?" Morgan wants you to hurry it up and get to the point. 

"When someone, like these wealthy guys on your list," you point at each and every one, "loses something that they want back, who are they going to call?" 

For a while, they both remain silent, simply staring at you. You sigh, growing tired of this whole thing. 

Don't they have a killer to catch? Why were you here? 

What a waste of time… 

"So, you're a professional thief," Hotchner concludes after a light deliberation, "people hire you to reclaim their stolen goods. Theft of theft. Each of these men were your clients, each of them looking for you to take something back that was theirs. That's why your fingerprints are on these specific items." 

"I cannot confirm what you're saying is true," you say back with a smirk on your face. "Theft is a crime so…" 

Morgan and Hotchner then promptly exit the room, leaving you alone for a moment. You can already guess how the conversation is going outside the door.

"It can't be her," Hotchner says, tapping his hand against the wall.

"Then who can it be?" Morgan asks. "We've got no other leads…" 

Hotchner looks away for a moment, thinking, then something clicks and he turns to Morgan and says, "it's someone she knows."

They both head their way back to the interrogation room and you wave at them, saying, "welcome back! Are you done being dumbasses now?" 

"You said earlier that we're looking for a woman," Hotchner asks you, recalling your words on the profile, "how do you know she's a woman?" 

"It's obvious. I'm a woman, duh," you say back. 

Neither of them seem amused by your joke so you go to explaining.

"I saw the surveillance videos on the news. She learned that technique on the streets from some hotshot pickpockets. They're a bunch of them, a crew, all women. I run into them all the time." 

"You steal back what they stole," Hotchner says aloud. 

"Again, I can't confirm-"

"Would you be able to identify who makes up this 'crew' if we gave you photos of local thieves?" Morgan poses, wanting to crack down on this case before another man gets murdered. 

You shrug, then say, "if you can get me a hot meal and a pair of pants, I'll think about it." 

They both look at each other again then agree to comply. 

You order Chinese take out and sit in a cozier conference room with a hot cup of tea. You don't know whose pants you're wearing but it's better than nothing.

Hotchner joins you and you're alone with him this time. He watches as you eat. It's weird but you assume he's still trying to profile you. 

So, you push his buttons a little. 

"Do you like being alone?" You ask him. 

"Excuse me?" He asks back, rather forcefully, but his demeanor stays rigid. 

_Got him_ , you think to yourself, covering your tracks immediately. 

"Sorry, I meant you're not interrogating me with a partner anymore, didn't mean to hit a soft spot," you say before turning away from him, sipping your tea. 

There is a silence for a moment, before the sound of him clasping his hands together breaks through the room. 

"Why did you leave the FBI?" Hotchner suddenly inquires.

You nearly choke on your tea, spitting it out just in time, which makes him raise his eyebrow at you. 

You hate the look on his face, that smug expression that he knows he's got you. 

You reply, acting like an airhead, coughing slightly, "I never worked for the FBI. You think someone like me could work for the FBI? You know what I do for a living, right?"

"You're right, which is why I doubted my intuition at first," he says, again with that blunt tone and dry demeanor, "you didn't exist in the FBI database, not until I requested the special clearance to unseal your file." 

You scoff, saying, "what file? I have no idea what you're talking about."

"I read it, Y/N. You were a part of a special task force, a ghost unit, in charge of making drops to undercover agents. That's why you have such an affinity for profiling. You need to be able to interpret a scene to ensure it's safe before you make a drop. You were good at your job, performing some of the most successful drops the FBI has ever witnessed, so why did you leave?" 

Hotchner stares at you and you feel violated. As if he was reading you like a book without your permission. He had the coldest eyes you've ever seen. Now you wished you had requested a jacket too. 

Being profiled is a nasty feeling. 

"Don't be arrogant," you bite back. "You ask me as if you don't already know the answer." 

"One of your drops led to the death of an undercover agent. You left shortly after. It's been six months since you quit. You lost faith in your ability to make hand offs, so you went back to stealing. You steal back what cannot be replaced by legal means."

Hotchner lays your life out on the table and you just wish he wouldn't dissect you in front of your food. It's just impolite! 

He continues vetting you, "we did some more digging and we found that you don't just work for the rich. You help the poor reclaim their lost possessions as well, but you don't ask for anything in return from them." 

"Why would I?" You interject, "they just want to get back what is rightfully theirs." 

"That agent died because you helped smuggle a family heirloom to him. A valuable one, one that got him killed. A murder completely unrelated to his undercover mission. An unexpected outcome. A hard one to swallow. The kind of death that makes you want to help-"

"Aaron Hotchner," you shut him up by saying his name, catching him off guard for a moment before you question him, "how many people have you watched die for no reason?" 

"Plenty," he answers with a touch of melancholy in his voice. 

For once, you think he might not be a robot after all. He might actually have some kind of human emotion under that tough skin he wears. 

Though, he only drops the facade for a moment before returning to the stone cold glare. 

"How many before the FBI?" You change the basis of your question. 

He goes silent all of a sudden, so you push on.

"All my life, I've seen people die on the street over…nothing. How much is a human life worth? A gold chain? A few pearls? I thought that if I joined the FBI, I could help stop those deaths, but I only saw another one. Those preventable deaths…they never end, do they?" 

Hotchner swallows briefly and you know what it means, so you let out a sigh. 

"I hoped that answered your burning question," you reply, going back to picking at your leftovers. 

A moment later, Agents Jareau and Reid arrive with photos of local thieves, along with frames taken from the surveillance footage. Everyone else from the B.A.U team begins to file in, holding their own discussions as you sift through the profiles. You look through each photo, marking the people in specific gangs, while also trying to think of who would fit the profile. 

Then, it suddenly clicks. 

"I know why she kills them," you look up all of them, your words slicing through the air. 

"Wait, what?" Reid raises his eyebrow at your statement. 

"Your 'unsub' isn't killing to cover up her tracks. She's doing it…for attention," you say, giving them back all the photos, "it's not someone well-integrated in any of these crews. _It's a new member_." 

"That would explain why none of these people fit the profile," Hotchner glances down at all the possible suspects. "None of them would be able to go into such high-end stores without being seen immediately as a threat."

"Well, if she's doing it for attention, then she's desperate to stay on the good side of these criminals, which means she likely doesn't want to get caught," Reid thinks out loud, "or else the moment she does, she loses all of her credibility. She's gaining momentum _because_ she's getting away with it." 

"Not only that, she gives them the things she stole in exchange for their friendship. Very high value items for the price of being in a pickpocket gang," Agent Prentiss adds. 

"Stealing wasn't enough," Morgan states, "she escalated to murders because she needed to be noticed. She craves the attention." 

"Which means she isn't going to stop," Hotchner finishes off the discussion. Everyone goes silent as they decide the next steps, a step you've already picked for them. 

"She won't unless someone claims the murders as their own," you announce to them, "and who better to stake that claim than me." 

"What are you saying?" Hotchner looks at you as if you've gone mad. 

"She wants attention, right?" You map out your thoughts to everyone, "well, what happens when all the attention is suddenly taken away from her? Her crew members don't know if she's actually the unsub. They just receive the things she steals as 'proof'. If your profile is correct, then this person can easily _buy_ those items and pawn them off as if she's been stealing them." 

"That may have been the stressor," Reid jumps off your point, "maybe the crew accused her of this and asked her to prove herself so she escalated and murdered the store owner on video, while also visibly displaying her skills so that they could see she had the right to be a part of their crew." 

Morgan leans back against the wall, folding his arms, thinking out loud, "she'd be desperate to prove herself again if a false confession is made." 

"She'll make a mistake," Hotchner taps his finger against the table, calculating how they're going to go about all this, "up until now, every kill, every theft, it's been calculated. She must've been watching her targets for a while before each hit. She won't have time to do that now. She'll get sloppy." 

"What if she doesn't take the bait?" Morgan poses the alternative. 

"She will," you answer confidently, "she's trying to prove that she isn't just daddy's trust fund baby and that she can ride with the cool kids. Trust me, if she's anything like the girls I grew up with, she'll freak out." 

"You're our only suspect so we'll have to keep you here for the time being," Agent Jareau informs you, "I'll prepare what I'm going to release to the media." 

"She'll go after Remy's," you let them all know, "it's going to be the only high-end jewelry store that will be both open and have the owner present. Remy always cleans his diamonds on Thursday nights. She'll have until midnight to strike." 

You look at the clock on the wall. It's 10PM. 

"I'll release the statement once we have police presence set up outside Remy's," Agent Jareau hurriedly leaves the room. 

"I'll stay behind, see if she might try to contact the tip hotline, reclaim her identity," Hotchner says before he points to Morgan and Prentiss, "I need you both at the scene. Reid, have Garcia pull up any other open jewelry stores during this time and have the police circling those areas as well. We want to make sure we cover all our bases." 

Everyone quickly heads to their posts, leaving you and Hotchner alone again. 

You sip the last of your tea, letting out a sigh. This would be a long night. 

"How were you sure that's why she killed those men?" Hotchner inquires. 

"I'm not sure about anything," you respond, swirling the wet leaves at the end of your cup, "I just said what I felt fit your profile with the knowledge base I had. Call it a hunch, if you will." 

"What other hunches do you have?" Hotchner watches as you smirk at his questioning, setting your cup down. "I know you've been profiling me."

"Is that what you think I've been doing?" You poke fun at him, "I must say, you wouldn't be a fun dinner date, staring intently at me while I scarfed down chow mein." 

"Just tell me what you think you know about me."

"Aren't we a little closet narcissist, I love it!" You tease. 

Hotchner tightens his glare on you and you know you need to actually answer him or he might explode. He really isn't fun at all, making you pout. But, you decide to give him what he wants and you spill the beans. 

"I know your wife recently left you," you state, watching as Hotchner tenses up at your words. "Yikes, did I hit the mark?"

"How would you know that?" Hotchner asks, "I haven't mentioned anything at all to you about myself. How did you even know I had a wife?" 

"Left hand, ring finger, skin's still filling in from years of having a ring on it," you point out. "That part was easy." 

"How do you know she left me?" 

"That part was also easy," you answer, "this kind of work doesn't lend itself to a normal family structure. It's 10pm and you're here, sitting in a conference room with me, when you know Agent Jareau can easily monitor the tip hotline by herself and I can sit in a cell until this whole thing wraps up. You're here because you find me intriguing."

"Don't flatter yourself," he scoffs. 

"Am I wrong?" You push his buttons further, "a man in need of a woman's attention is a man who has just lost it. However, that isn't what I find the most interesting about you, Supervisory Special Agent Aaron Hotchner."

"Oh?" He folds his arms at you, "then what's so interesting about me?" 

You look him up and down. Crisp, clean suit. Perfectly styled hair. A stone cold glare that could send chills down anyone's spine. 

Hotchner holds himself well, but you know that any shell can be _cracked._

"When did you know you weren't in love with your wife anymore?" 

You know you've hit the bullseye the moment he bites the inside of his lip in response to your question. So, you continue, breaking him down, bit by bit, just like he had done to you. 

"Was it before or after you found out she was pregnant?" 

His eyes flip, an almost fury burning in them, as he exclaims, "how could you know-"

You interrupt him before he can say anything more, "I'm assuming before. Why else would you try to make it work?"

"There's no way you could know all this by just looking at me," Hotchner stares at you, completely dumbfounded. 

You gesture to his jacket as you explain, "you still keep your ring on you, in your breast pocket. You put it on when you stop by to visit. In a way, you wear it to show your wife that you are still committed to her and your child. You're trying to lull her into thinking that one day you both might get back together. It gives you hope that maybe such a fantasy will play out. However, the moment you leave her house, you take that ring off and the fantasy dies because you know you can never give her what she wants and she will never be what you want either. You don't love her anymore, even if you can't admit it to yourself." 

"I do love her," Hotchner tells you, his voice flat, "I've loved her all my life." 

"I'm sure you did," you respond, before digging into your pocket, "but we both know that if you truly still loved her, you would've noticed that the wedding ring you once cherished as a token of your undying love isn't in your pocket anymore." 

Hotchner pats his breast pocket, noticing now that the ring is missing. You then place it on the table right in front of him, sliding it closer to his left hand. 

"When did you take this from me?!" He demands an answer, his voice raising. 

As nonchalantly as you can, you explain, "earlier, I _accidentally_ dropped the food when you handed it to me. A pair of chopsticks fell out. You bent over to pick it up for me and the ring rolled straight out of your pocket. You didn't even notice. I was a bit surprised. I had a pretty elaborate plan for stealing it too…" 

Hotchner snatches it from the table and puts it back in his pocket. He glances at you with a look you can't decipher.

Then, he goes, "what did you mean earlier?" 

You tilt your head, wondering what he was referring to.

"You told me that I know she will never be what I want," Hotchner repeats what you had said, "what is it that you think I want?" 

You open your mouth to answer but then Agent Jareau walks into the room, saying, "an anonymous caller left a message on the hotline. You should listen to it. I'm sending it to the others now." 

Hotchner nods and Jareau leaves immediately. He plays the message on speaker for you to hear. 

It's a woman's voice in a full state of manic, saying, "if you think whoever you've caught is the real criminal, then you're all going to be cleaning up another man's blood very soon. Tell that lying bitch that I'm the real killer!" 

The message ends there with the sound of a landline hitting the table. 

"It worked," you stretch your limbs out, "now let's hope I was right about Remy's."

And, of course, you were. 

The police were waiting outside as a woman entered Remy's at around 11PM, immediately apprehending her. She had the murder weapon with her that fit all the other crime scenes. She was the only daughter of a large business tycoon, overshadowed by both her father and her three older, very successful brothers. Having lost her mother at a young age, she clung onto any female role model she could get her hands on, including the crew of female pickpockets, who had their own men-hating agendas, all of which fueled her crimes. 

It was, thankfully, a clean arrest, no additional casualties. 

You'd sleep easier that night, knowing that all the victims would get the justice they deserved.

"You're free to go," the NYPD chief of police tells you.

"Remember that next time you try to arrest me, okay?" You wink before leaving, but you quickly whip back around to say, "and let a girl put on pants, please!" 

The entire B.A.U team leaves promptly after the arrest, which made sense. It is late and you could all use some sleep after a serial killer had been caught. 

Everyone except Aaron Hotchner, that is. 

"Here to arrest me again?" You walk up to him in the lobby of your apartment building. 

"You know, I'm surprised a pickpocket can afford such an expensive building," Hotchner notes, looking at the interior design. 

"Have you _seen_ my list of clientele?" 

"I know that list got shorter," he states and you brush him off. 

"Let's just hope the next serial killer doesn't target wealthy women or else I'd be really out of business," you let out a long sigh before asking, "why are you here, Agent Hotchner? Shouldn't you be going home?" 

"You have something of mine," he says, putting his hand out. 

"I have no idea what you're talking about," you look at him with a puzzled expression on your face. 

"Don't make me arrest you again," he threatens and your mouth curves to a smile. 

"And here I thought you'd make it all the way back to Virginia without realizing," you pout, pulling out a credit card from your pocket and handing it to him. 

He takes one look at it and puts his hand back out towards you, palm up. 

"My ID too," he demands, " _now_." 

"Can't a thief keep one souvenir!" You groan, placing his driver's license back in his hand. 

"And my social security card," he stares you down and you frown at him, digging into the back pocket of your pants. 

"You really shouldn't keep these things in your wallet, they're just too easy to steal," you say with a cheeky grin before handing him two social security cards, "tell Morgan I say hi. Good night!" 

"Stop," his sharp voice makes you freeze in place right as you turn away. 

You put your hands up and say, "I promise I didn't take anything else! You can search me if you want." 

"All I want to know is the answer to my question."

"What?" You turn back, surprised, "really? Here, right now? I don't think this is the kind of conversation you want to-" 

"I don't care where, I just want to see if you're right," he interrupts you, his voice urgent. 

You shrug and then say, "alright, let's go to my apartment then. I could use the help cleaning up the mess you all left behind after rummaging through my things." 

One awkward elevator ride later, Hotchner ends up in your apartment. You invite him inside but once he's there, he stays close to the door, not really stepping further than that. 

"You want a cup of coffee or something? Please say no, I only ask because it's polite. I don't actually have a coffee maker…" 

"Quit the small talk and just answer the question," Hotchner leans his back against your wall, folding his arms, waiting for your response, his eyes on you. "What is it that you think I want?" 

"Are you asking me because you don't know," you spin the question back on him, "or because you're afraid to admit the truth?" 

"I said, _answer_." 

You never thought you'd ever hear a stoic man like Hotchner gets so heated before. It sparked your interest. 

So, you decide to give him what he wants. 

"The truth is: you don't want a cushy life. You pretended that you did and the fantasy lasted just as long as most fantasies do. Your reality caught up with you and smothered any hope of that falsehood ever becoming anything but a fantasy."

"And what is my reality?" 

His words echo through your apartment, along with the soles of his shoes hitting your lacquered wood floors as he approaches you slowly. You answer his question as the sound of his steps grows closer and closer. 

"You, Aaron Hotchner, are drawn to disaster," you lay it all out for him to hear, "you crave it. You will never stop working cases like today's because you can't stop. You need it. It gives you purpose. That's why your wife could never give you what you wanted. She was too perfect, too suburban, too…domestic. You won't admit it to yourself but you are incapable of loving anyone normally. _You need someone who is just as much of a wreck as you are_." 

Right when you say those words, you know you've sealed your own fate. 

Because, when the last sentence leaves your lips, his comes crashing against yours. 

He left you breathless. 

Your heartbeat quickens as he presses you up against your wall, kissing you like he's thirsty and you're the only one who can quench his thirst. 

You feel as his hands find their way under your t-shirt and he says against your lips, "I knew you weren't wearing a bra."

You bite your lip to hold back your breaths as his hands cup your bare breasts. You quiver at his touch, at the way he rolls his thumb over your hard nipples, all while his lips refuse to leave your neck. 

You'll be drowning in kiss marks by the end of this. 

Before you can even react, he flips you over, making you hold yourself up against the wall with your hands as he undoes the pants you were wearing, burying his hand in you. 

"Hotch-" You breathe out reflexively as his finger begins to rub your clit, making your legs weak. 

"When you cum," he whispers in your ear as he slips a finger inside of you, making you gasp, "you better say my name louder than that." 

You grip the wall as he slides his fingers in and out of you at an excruciating pace. You can barely keep yourself up, your arms growing as weak as your legs were. 

He holds you captive with his touch. You're unable to move an inch, consumed by the feeling of his fingers against you. 

How does he know just how to curl his fingers to make you dripping wet? 

You can feel yourself getting closer to your release, a knot forming in your stomach, the pressure building. You bite your lip but the moans still slip out. 

Just as you're about to climax, he moves his hand away from you. You gasp at the sudden emptiness, balling your hands into fists, trying to steady yourself, your breathing heavy, your face pressed up against the cold wall. 

Then, before you can even register the sound of him undoing his belt, you feel his length slam right into you, filling you to the core. You scream out his name as he digs his hands into your hips, thrusting into you roughly from behind. 

"Hotch, this is-I can't barely hold myself up," you whimper, your arms bright red from how hard you're pressing them up against the wall. 

"You will if you want to cum," Hotch responds, his pace increasing. 

You don't know when it hits you but as he thrusts himself as deep as he can into you, you climax, shivering all over, your arms too weak to stay gripping the wall. Hotch takes a hold of you, pressing your body up against the wall to steady you, still keeping his pace as you ride out your orgasm.

Then, he slips out of you and asks, "where's your bed?" 

"S-Second door," you say, surprised you can even get any words out in your daze. 

Hotch lifts you up into his arms and carries you to your bedroom, dropping you down on your back. You can barely feel your legs and arms after having to hold yourself up as he fucked you senselessly. 

You watch as he climbs on top of you, his arms at your side, his cold eyes staring right into yours as he thrusts himself inside of you once again without any hesitation. Your core aches but you can't help but want more of him, your hips moving with his. 

"Eyes on me," he demands and you listen, staring back at him as he says, "I want you to watch as I cum in you." 

To think, Hotch saying those words in the same stoic voice he has when he was interrogating you was enough to make you melt. 

You grip your bedsheets as his hips meet yours. You can feel your next orgasm building and when it hits you, you feel him release inside of you. He holds your hips steady as he fills you up, your eyes locked on his face. You watch his sweat drip onto your shirt. He lets out a couple of deep breaths before pulling out of you, leaving you completely empty and aching once again. 

It is only then that you realize he's still fully clothed. All he needed to do was fix his tie and buckle his belt and suddenly, it is as if none of this ever happened. 

You're the one left with a mess to clean up. Your shirt bunched up at your hips. Those loaned pants long forgotten, lost on the floor somewhere in your apartment. His warm cum dripping down your thigh… 

Hotch takes one look at you from head to toe and then says, in that straight forward voice of his, "we'll meet again." 

He gestures to your bed stand and you see that he left you his business card. 

When the hell did he do that?

The moment you turn your head back, he's gone. You hear the sound of the door shutting behind him and you can't help but wonder… 

Will you see him again?


	2. Sea Breeze

Two weeks later, your fax machine prints out a one way ticket to LAX from JFK. You grit your teeth before pulling out Hotch's business card. He left you that night with nothing but that business card and steamy memories. 

"What am I looking at, Hotch?" You ask him over the phone as you stare at the piece of paper. 

Hotch replies, "your flight leaves in 45 minutes. I would grab a taxi now if I were you." 

"I'm not working a case with the FBI," you tell him, before flipping your phone off. 

Over the last two weeks, you haven't called him once. He hasn't called you either. Both of which make sense.

You're still trying to process what happened that night. 

The sex you had with Hotch was...raw. It was filled with a passion you had never experienced before, completely devoid of any emotional attachment. He fucked you, made you cum, then left when he finished. You still think about it every time you touch yourself. 

So, the question you want to be asking yourself now is: do you want it to just stay a memory or-

Hotch calls back immediately, interrupting your thoughts, so you groan in annoyance, letting it ring. 

After a few rings, you answer it and say, "look, I told you, I'm not working-"

"There's been a series of burglaries, all leading up to brutal murders," Hotch interjects before you can stop him, "the last one was an entire family. You know them. They were on vacation, a wealthy family from New York. The Cohens." 

_The Cohens_ …you saw them last week. You had helped them pack, to ensure that their valuables wouldn't get stolen…

They were a beautiful family, with… 

"Oh god," you put your hand over your mouth in shock, choking on a sob, "d-did they kill Sadie?" 

There is a moment of silence and you break into tears, your fingers trembling so much, you nearly drop your phone. 

"We need your help," Hotch's voice is calm and collected, trying to stabilize you, "I assure you that their bodies will not be at the crime scene when you get here, but I need you here. We can't figure out what the unsubs may have stolen off them. It could be the key to finding who did this." 

"I'll be there," you assure him before closing your phone. 

Next thing you know, you hastily put together a bag of things for an indeterminate timed trip and hailed the fastest cabbie you've ever had in NYC, getting to JFK just on time for your flight. 

The next few hours are excruciating as Agent Garcia fills you in on the details of the murders. You arrive at LAX completely debriefed and terrified. 

Hotch comes to pick you up and you choose to sit in the backseat, unable to look at him at all.

"I'm sorry you have to be here," he tells you sincerely, "but the team could use your expertise right now." 

"What kind of sickos kill a six year old girl?" You say under your breath, slouching in your seat, unable to comprehend that kind of horror. 

"The kind that don't leave behind witnesses," he responds and you look up at his reflection in the rear view mirror.

The expression on his face makes you wonder…does Hotch maintain a poker face at all times because he knows the moment he lets something matter, _it'll break him?_

A crack in his shell that he can never let happen… 

The ride to the hotel the Cohens were staying at is brutally quiet. It's tense, making you glad you chose to sit in the backseat. 

When you arrive, Hotch gets out first and opens your door for you. He introduces you to the LAPD as a consultant for the FBI. 

You want to roll your eyes at the statement, but you refrain. 

You actually want to help find these killers. 

Speaking of which, you say, "there's more than one of these fuckers, right?" 

"At least two, we've determined," Hotch tells you as he lifts the yellow tape for you so you can walk through the front door of the hotel room. You try to tune out the blood spatters and the obvious places where the murders took place. 

"Alright, what am I looking for?" You say to yourself as you scan the room. 

"The unsubs took something from the Cohens, but we just don't know what," Hotch explains, "they took souvenirs from the other victims, all of which we were able to decipher as family heirlooms. You knew the Cohens. What would they have insured?" 

"Plenty of things," you say, glancing into their luggage, "they had a lot of stealable shit. But…"

You bent down, reaching your hand into the depths of their suitcase, unzipping a hidden pocket and pulling out its contents. 

It is a long, thin, black box. 

You open it in front of Hotch and the present LAPD officers to reveal…nothing. 

"This is what they stole," you tell them all, "it was a gift for their son Matthew's thirteenth birthday. They came to LA to celebrate his bar mitzvah with the rest of their family before presenting him with his grandfather's pendant. None of the family would've known it existed. The Cohens had recently purchased it from a WWII collector."

"A collector?" Hotch inquires. 

"Yeah, I can give Garcia his information if you want to do a check on him." 

"Do that, I'll go tell the team we might have a lead," Hotch says before exiting the crime scene to make his calls. 

You let Garcia know everything and she gets to digging on the collector. There is nothing left for you to do at the crime scene, which means you're stuck having another quiet car ride with Hotch to where you'd be staying for this trip. 

You just wish he would've told you that it would be with him… 

"I got friends in the city," you tell him as he parks the car at the hotel. "I can stay with any of them." 

"I need you close to the investigation," he says before exiting the car, taking your bag with him as he does.

You open your mouth to protest, but he's holding your stuff hostage! 

So, you quickly follow him into his hotel room, where you're not surprised to see that there's only one bed. 

"Hotch, can you tell me why I'm here?" You ask him as the door shuts behind you. 

"I told you why," he says as he sets your things down next to his own. "We needed your help with the case."

"That's not the full truth and we both know that," you say back, folding your arms at him. "And if you aren't going to be truthful with me, I'm going to leave, with or without my things. In all honesty, I doubt I even packed anything worthwhile in there." 

You wait a few seconds, only to be given complete silence from Hotch, so you turn around to make your exit. 

However, right as you pull open the door, it slams shut and you see an arm hovering above you. You turn back around and Hotch has both his arms against the door, trapping you in. 

"You're right," he tells you, "I'm not being honest. I can't be."

You blink at him, curious at his word choice, asking, "why?" 

"My wife filed for divorce," he admits to you and you hold your breath at his confession, though you knew it was bound to happen. "You're not surprised, are you?"

"I can't be," you reply back, using his words. 

Hotch stares straight at you as he asks, "what is it about you? How do you know so much about me?" 

"The same way you know so much about me," you answer, looking straight at him. "We have the same eyes." 

Those tired eyes, the kind that beg for sleep but know it will never come. Eyes that have seen too much, too soon, too late. 

There's a restlessness in them that keeps you both up at night, searching for answers to questions that can never be answered. 

"You ask me why you're here, but you haven't asked yourself why you chose to come anyways," Hotch asserts. "You want to be here, _with me_." 

"Tell me why you think that," you breathe out, knowing that he can feel every breath you take against his lips. With every breath, you take him in. 

Hotch smells like hotel shampoo and aftershave. He never smelled like home. He is always on the move, unstable. 

The only thing that lingers is the remains of hotel showers and shaves. 

He catches you staring at him and slowly, the words roll off his tongue one by one, "you can't stop thinking about that night. What we did together. How I made you feel."

" _Tell me more_ ," you beg, your voice sultry, luring him in. 

"I've never held someone the way I held you that night," he confesses, "I don't know where it came from. It was primal, I couldn't get enough of you and you felt the same way. Why else would you willingly come back to my hotel room?"

"Are you sure about that?" You challenge him. 

"Cut the crap," he tells you firmly, stealing your breath away, "we both know you could've easily left if you didn't want to be here. You let me take your suitcase. You wanted me to stop you from leaving. _You want me to want you_."

"Do you want me?" You ask as you lean forward, your lips nearly grazing his, your hand wrapping itself around his tie, pulling him in. 

His hands ball into fists behind you as he breathes against your lips, " _desperately_."

You don't know who caves first, but you can only remember the feeling of his lips. They were hot and filled with need, just like your own. You feel them all over your body. 

You feel them linger against your lips. 

Hotch refuses to let your lips go. He kisses you as he undoes his shirt, tossing it aside. He kisses you as he takes off yours. He kisses you as he pulls you on top of him as he lays back in the bed. 

He holds your lips hostage as he grinds his hips up against yours, making you wish you both weren't still wearing pants. 

With his arms around you, Hotch pulls you down onto him, pressing your warm chest against his cold one. You feel his hand run down your back, making your shiver at his touch, until he slips into your pants, grabbing your ass. You moan against his lips as he holds you down, pressing your hips as close as he can get them to his own. 

"Just take off my pants already," you plead, already soaking wet. 

"Don't be greedy," he tells you and you bite your lip as he pushes you down onto your back and gets on top of you. 

Hotch drags his finger up your core and you swear he could feel how wet you are through your pants. You shake at his touch but he takes it as an invitation to continue his agonizing foreplay. 

"I hate you," you tell him as he rests himself between your legs. 

"I know," he responds, again, in that docile tone of his, though he manages to sneak in a sly smirk at the end. 

Then, Hotch leans down, letting you feel the weight of his body on you, making you remember that first night as he whispers in your ear. 

"Tell me what you want me to do and _maybe_ I'll listen." 

You're so close to smacking him straight across the face, having suffered through his relentless teasing. You are hot and wet. 

You need him to touch you. 

"I've had enough of your bullshit, Hotch," you spit out, hoping to rile him up. "Either take me or leave." 

He shakes his head, his position unwavering. 

"Your loss," you say as you move away from underneath him, rolling off the bed to your feet. You scan the room for your shirt and start your trek towards it. 

Only for him to pull you right back onto the bed, except this time, he keeps you right at the edge, tugging your pants off with one swipe. 

Your hips linger at the edge of the bed as you watch Hotch bury his face in between your legs, unable to stop him from doing whatever he wants with you. 

You jerk back slightly at the sudden feeling of his tongue on your clit but Hotch quickly grabs a hold of your legs, keeping you in place as he has his way with you using his tongue. Your breath catches in your throat and you put your hand over your mouth to stop yourself from making too much noise. 

The feeling of his warm tongue licking up and down your core is enough to send sparks through your body. 

"Do you hate me now?" Hotch asks, licking his lips the moment you look down at him. 

"I do, I really do," you say before taking your hand and pushing his head back between your legs. 

You feel him grin against your skin before continuing, his slow pace building you up for an intense climax. 

How long has he been going down on you? It feels like hours, but at the same time, it feels like seconds and you can't get enough. 

You writhe against him as your orgasm shoots through you. He keeps his tongue right on your clit as you shake and the overstimulation makes you scream in pleasure. 

You lay back and you let out short, swallow breaths, with some words in between, "I…really…hate you."

"Sure you do," he responds, the sound of his belt hitting the floor echoes through the room. 

In your blurred vision, you see as he gets back on the bed and before you can even react, he lifts you up on top of him, lining himself up at your entrance. 

Hotch slides right in without any protest. You're _that_ wet. 

You lean forward, gripping his shoulders as you feel him fill you up again, remembering what it had felt like all those weeks ago. 

Why did it feel like you'd be getting used to this feeling very soon… 

"Finish what you started," he looks up at you as he says that, not moving an inch since your hips touched his. 

You feel him flex inside of you and you let out an involuntary moan, needing more. 

"Go on, you know you want to," he tells you with his eyes locked on yours, "you want me to cum inside you again." 

You bite your lip, not wanting to cave, but Hotch begins to sway his hips back and forth, rubbing against your clit and you can't stand it anymore. 

You start to lift your hips up and down, feeling as his length pulls in and out of you. You find a pace that drives you absolutely insane and you're surprised how quickly your next climax comes. You hold onto Hotch as you ride it out. 

"F-fuck," you shakily say, your knees going weak. You take several deep breaths, not knowing if you can even move anymore. 

You should've known Hotch wouldn't give you any mercy because the moment you stop moving, he starts grinding up into you, filling you up at his pace now. He thrusts into you with absolute ease and you can hear how wet you are with every thrust.

The sound of him fucking you fills the room, mixed with his grunts and your moans. 

It all ends with a huff, and his hot cum inside of you again. You couldn't count how many times you came. They all blurred together at the end as you collapse on top of him. 

You both are a bundle of sweat and cum, breathing heavy, hearts racing. You both just lay there for a moment, unable to do anything except revel in what just happened. 

Hotch then breaks the silence. 

"You should shower," he tells you as he slips out of you. 

Will you ever get used to that empty feeling ever again? 

"R-right," you clear your throat, quickly getting up and hopping in the shower. 

You rinse yourself off. The water feels nice and you close your eyes, your mind still spinning. You grip the shower wall and let out a sigh, your heart beating out of your chest. 

Every time you close your eyes, you feel him. Touching you. Kissing you. Inside of you. 

You can't get him out of your mind. Your body aches for him. 

You're in big trouble… 

The moment you exit the bathroom, Hotch makes his way inside, shutting the door behind him. You look all around the room and you're surprised to see that the clothes that were pulled off your body in heat were nearly folded on top of your bag. You quickly stuff them back into your bag and change into a new set of clothes. 

When you finish changing, you notice that the bed is made as well. The hotel room looked just like it did when you first came in.

Again, as if nothing ever happened here. 

All you have are your memories. 

"Your key card is right there," Hotch's voice startles you and you whip behind to see him freshly showered, wearing nothing but a towel around his waist. 

You try not to stare, but the redness on your cheeks gives you away. 

"Key card?" You turn back around and see it sitting on the desk. 

Hotch doesn't say anything. He just walks over to the door that connects his room to the next and opens it. 

"This is where you'll be staying," he gestures for you to take your bag and go. 

You don't protest. You just take the key card and your bag, promptly exiting. Hotch shuts the door behind you, leaving you alone once again. 

At least you got to clean yourself up this time… 

You close your connecting door, which you assumed Hotch had left open to make this exit possible. He had planned this all down to the last second. 

Though, there was something that strikes you as odd. 

Why didn't he just have you shower in your own room? 

You shake off the thought, too exhausted to even think anymore. You throw your bag into the corner and lay down on the bed, knocking out almost instantly. 

On the other side of the door, Hotch changes into a simple shirt and a pair of shorts. As he changes, he notices the body towel you left behind. He picks it up and folds it up neatly before setting it aside. 

Then, he breathes out into the quiet, "does she always smell this sweet?" 

Hotch shakes the thought off his mind, not allowing you to linger. He can't let you linger on his mind for too long, or else he might do something he'll surely regret… 

Your days in LA begin to blur together. 

During the day, you help the team follow leads, seeing what your knowledge of high-end theft can add to the case. Then, at night, Hotch steals every breath that leaves your lips and you can't help but let him. 

Every night is the exact same. He has his way with you, then you shower and leave. 

Your body is getting more and more acclimated to his touch. Your toes curl up at the feeling of his fingers touching your skin. Your breath catches in your throat the moment his lips crash onto yours. 

You can't get him off your mind, no matter how hard you try. He finds his way back, each and every time, and you let him. 

After one more murder and a set of aggravated interrogations, you and the team find the unsubs, a pair of memorabilia fanatics who had used the collector's rich buyers as targets for their burglaries.

You weren't there, since you were just a consultant, but you heard it was quite the shootout and only one of the unsubs made it out alive and would be serving time for the crimes committed. 

You're thankful for the case to be resolved, not wanting to see another innocent family murdered over their possessions. 

As you check out of the hotel, the team invites you to fly back with them on the jet but you politely decline, saying that you want to spend some time in LA.

You spend your extra time in LA reflecting on the week you had with Hotch. 

You take a deep breath, soaking your toes in the warm sand of the beach, as your mind fills with the moments. 

Messy, hot, uncontrollable moments. 

"He knows," you whisper to yourself, the feeling of regret slowly creeping up inside of you. 

Hotch is smart enough to realize that you're using him the same way he is using you. 

So, what happens the moment you both stop needing the other? 

Or, what happens the moment one of you catches feelings for the other? 

You kick the sand from beneath your toes, freeing yourself from its grip. Then, you walk yourself over to the water, letting the waves wash over your feet, gripping your sandals tightly in your hands. 

You look at the waves, hoping they would give you the answers you were hoping for. 

Should you let these memories wash away… 

Suddenly, your phone rings and you pick it up without checking the caller ID. 

"Go to the front desk of your hotel, there's a ticket waiting for you," Hotch's voice fills your ears. 

"I'm not working another case," you sigh into the phone, "so please don't-"

"There's no case," he says, which surprises you. "I just want you in Virginia before midnight." 

"I live in New York," you tell him, "in case you forgot…"

Hotch completely ignores what you said and continues with his train of thought, "I'll be picking you up from the airport when you land, don't make me wait." 

The phone call ends there and you look down at your cell, weighing the decision before you. The waves tickle your toes and you take a deep breath, tasting the salty sea air one last time. 

Then, you take your feet out of the water and walk away from the shore. 

You have a flight to catch… 

When you arrive, Hotch picks you up and drives you to his house. It is a big house for a man to be living alone in. He parks the car and you follow him inside. 

Neither of you have spoken a word to the other. He didn't ask you how your flight was, or if you had fun in LA. 

You know he can't ask. Too personal. 

"I want you to work for my team," Hotch finally breaks the silence. 

"Are you insane?" You reply rather bluntly. 

"You're good at it. I know it. The team knows it. You see the world differently. We need those eyes," he states the facts. "We couldn't have solved that case without you."

"I quit the FBI for a reason, Hotch," you clench your fists nervously, wanting to leave. 

Hotch could see it in your body language. You didn't want to be here anymore. 

"You can save lives, Y/N," he tries to convince you. 

"At what cost?" You flat out say, "I…I'm not strong enough, mentally, to deal with that kind of trauma on a daily basis." 

"We both know you're strong enough," Hotch rebuttals. "Why don't you just admit the real reason why you won't work for the FBI anymore?" 

You swallow. 

_He knows_ , you think to yourself. 

"You know you'd be a good addition to the B.A.U but you're letting your past dictate your future," Hotch lays it out, "you can't keep letting that one death eat away at you forever." 

You bite your lip and then shout, "I can do whatever the fuck I want!"

"Not this vigilante pickpocket bullshit," he says, closing in on you, "you can't keep this up. We both know that the facade eventually catches up to our true realities."

"I'm not you, Hotch," you shove him away when he gets close but he snatches your hands before you can. 

"That's a lie and you know it," he breathes out, that piercing cold glare on you again. "It's like you said, we have the same eyes. I see the way you look when you figure something out for a case. That spark. You can't hide that. You want to work these cases, stop hiding it."

"Please," you break down, tears slowly falling from your eyes, "just let me pretend I don't. Just for a little longer. I can't-"

"You start tomorrow," he says without an ounce of hesitation, letting go of your hands. "I've already approved your paperwork." 

You involuntarily drop to the ground, your knees locking up in shock. You're thankful that Hotch had a carpet to catch your knees. You let go of your bag and you put your face in your hands, crying. 

If you had known that the moment you let Hotch into your life, he'd be the one to stop you from running away from your past…you would've never invited him up to your apartment that night. 

You had a cushy life. Clients called, you answered. You stole back what you could and you called the cops when you couldn't. Everyone got what they wanted. 

Everyone, except you. 

No one can steal back what you've lost. 

Not even Hotch… 

You know you can't pretend that you're content with your life anymore. 

The truth is that you never were. You hated being out in the field, not because you didn't like solving cases, but because every time you see a dead body, you think of the one you lost. 

If you had to go back out there, then you needed to be sure of something first. 

"Promise me one thing," your voice echoes through Hotch's quiet home. He gets up from his desk, walking back over to listen more clearly to your request. 

As he leans on the doorway, you get back to your feet and walk up to him, bag in hand. 

Then, you say, with your eyes staring straight into his, "promise me you won't fall in love with me." 

Hotch opens his mouth and you know he wants to ask you why, but instead he replies, "I know what kind of relationship we have. I won't stray from that, as long as you don't either." 

"I won't," your tone is completely emotionless as you say that. Then, you ask, in your normal voice, "so, which room is mine?" 

Hotch shows you to one of the many bedrooms he has and you put away all the things you had brought to LA. You didn't have anything of value back in NYC. You'll probably just put your apartment up to sublet. No use in selling it. It would be too much trouble to put all your stuff into storage. 

"Hotch?" You call out to him and he walks through your doorway for you to say, "I don't have any clothes here for tomorrow. It would look bad if I came in on my first day in casual clothes. I'm not a consultant anymore." 

"Closet," he gestures and you nod. Then he says, coldly, "we leave at 8am, don't be late." 

He exits your room immediately after and you're left with sudden chills. 

What could you expect, though?

You told the man not to fall in love with you…

In the closet, there are some blouses and slacks. All new, all your size. He must've known you'd agree to working at the B.A.U. He really does know more about you than you've come to think. 

"What else do you know about me?" You say as you sift through the clothing. 

He knows the style you like. He knows the best fit for your body. Again, all things he must've paid attention to when he was holding you in his arms. 

You bite your lip, before letting out a sigh. 

Hotch knows his place. He's demonstrated that time and time again. There's never pillow talk. 

Either you leave or he does. And, never once did you wish he had stayed. 

You don't think you could ever let him stay. It would be too much for your heart. 

You can't get hurt if he doesn't love you. He can't break your heart if you don't give it to him. 

So, as you lay down in your new bed, you close off your heart, dreaming of his body holding yours again… 

Unprepared for the future that lays ahead…


	3. Midnight Fog

You wake up to Hotch's warm breath against your neck. It startles you, having just woken up from a feverish dream that started just like this. 

"What time is it?" You mumble as his lips slowly make their way up to yours. 

"It's 6AM," he tells you, his eyes on you now, his lips hovering over yours. 

You notice that, for once, he isn't dressed in a full suit. He's wearing nothing but his boxers, which are a boring black and white plaid pattern. 

Had you expected any less? Not really. 

As always, Hotch looks restless. Does he even sleep? You doubt it, given how early it is and how late your flight was last night.

The way he looks at you with those eyes…they could surely make anyone fall head over heels for him. 

The way he looks at you and only you. 

You resist every urge in you to reach up and touch his face, even though you wanted to caress his cheek and feel his light stubble graze the palm of your hand. 

Instead, you go "too early" and roll onto your side, facing away from him, pulling the covers over your head. 

_Just five more minutes, please…_

You shouldn't expect much from him. The covers get pulled away just as quickly as you had pulled them over you, but Hotch lets you stay faced away. 

It isn't facing him that you are worried about, though. 

It's those roaming hands of his. 

You feel as his hand rests against your hip, slowly sliding forward. You bite your lip, not wanting to make a sound as he spreads your legs apart with his hand. You should really stop sleeping in just a t-shirt. 

When will you learn to just wear pants! 

Are you wearing the same shirt from the first night? 

Oh god…you are. _Fuck_. 

"What kind of dreams were you having?" He asks, feeling how wet you were already. 

"None of your business," you reply back before stuffing your face into your pillow the moment he begins to rub your clit. 

You moan into the fabric at his touch, cursing yourself for not being able to keep it together. He already knows just how to touch you to make you unravel. He's had a lot of practice. 

It doesn't take long for you to cum against his fingers, biting the pillow to stop yourself from screaming. 

"An interesting way to wake you up," he says nonchalantly as he leans you onto your back, forcing you to look up at him with a redness burning on your cheeks. 

"I'm awake now," you say back with a disgruntled huff, still reeling from your orgasm, "what do you want?" 

" _This_." 

That's all he says before he slides right into you, filling you up in an instant. You let out a gasp, clutching his bare chest, trying to adjust. 

As much as you had thought your body had become used to his sudden roughness, you hadn't seen him in a week since you were in LA. 

Hotch takes his pace slowly this time, as if he's giving you a chance to acclimate once again. Though, his kindness doesn't last. He grips the bed frame behind you to steady himself as he begins to thrust faster and faster into you. You watch as his hips continually meet yours, filling you to the brim with each thrust. 

You hate the fact that you can't help but move with him. You match his rhythm, match his pace, match his climax. You spill out onto him the moment he spills into you. 

Heavy breaths echo through the early morning as the sun slowly enters your bedroom. 

Hotch takes a moment to look at you, then says, "not your best outfit, although convenient."

"Shut up, at least I'm wearing something," you reply, coupled with an eye roll, and he moves away from you, leaving you to process what happened alone. 

As he always does. 

Each time he pulls out of you, you have to force yourself not to whimper at the sudden emptiness. You ball up your bed sheets in your fist, wishing you didn't feel this way. 

You shake it off, trying to convince yourself that you'll get used to it, eventually. 

You're thankful that the room Hotch had chosen for you had its own bathroom, so you quickly clean yourself up, not wanting to show up to work looking freshly fucked. 

Though, it wasn't a bad look on you. 

You're not surprised that the soaps left for you in the shower were hotel samples. He must really expect that neither of you will actually be living in this house. Everything that was here screamed 'temporary stay'. 

Your lives are out on the road, with the B.A.U, solving crimes. 

A life you'll need to adjust to. 

You grip your hand tightly against the edge of the sink, taking deep breaths. You look at yourself in the mirror. 

It's been six months since you quit the FBI. 

To think, six months later, you'd be right back. 

You brush your teeth and wash your face, trying to make a decent impression. The team knew you, but they knew you as a possible suspect and as a thief consultant. They didn't know you as an FBI agent and you were sure you'd need to prove to them that Hotch didn't just hire some pickpocket off the streets of NYC. 

So, you choose today to be the one _and only_ day you'll ever care about your appearance. You dust on some powder. You wear a light lip gloss. You even pull your hair up neatly. 

"What a bad bitch," you say with a smirk, looking at yourself. 

You walk out of the bathroom towards your closet, opening it to see what options you had. You had quickly peeked in there last night, but you actually need to pick an outfit today. 

You opt to go simple, but chic. You wear a navy blouse tucked into black slacks, paired with sleek flats. It looks like it'll be hot in Virginia today. It doesn't matter what the temperature is here, but you roll up your sleeves anyways. 

Knowing the kind of work you're putting yourself through, you assemble an actual go-bag, filled with essential items you'll need on the road. 

When you check your watch, it's almost time to leave. 

"You're not going to eat?" 

That's the first thing Hotch says as you pass by him standing in the kitchen, having just eaten something, though you can't seem to guess what. Maybe, a bowl of cereal? 

You shake your head at that. 

Hotch ain't a cereal kind of person. 

Probably something boring, like buttered toast. 

"I'm not a breakfast person," you reply, pouring yourself a glass of water to chug quickly. 

"You'll want to be," he tells you, grabbing his keys and bag, "you might not get a chance to eat during some cases." 

"I'll live," you respond dryly as you follow him to the car. 

You throw your bag next to his and, this time, you get into the front seat with him. He raises his eyebrow when he sees you sit next to him, but you explain, "if any of the team sees us, they'll find it strange if I'm sitting behind you when we're carpooling." 

"Right," he agrees, starting the car. 

The drive is quiet, besides the news radio he has on low volume. You spend most of it trying to sleep, wanting to make up for this morning. 

It's hard not to think about it when you close your eyes though, so you end up just staring out the window, watching as the car pulls up into a parking lot and Hotch shuts off the ignition. 

You're back at Quantico. Fun! 

"If anyone asks-"

"I got it," you cut him off, getting out of the car before he can say anything more. 

Hotch leads the way to the office, where Prentiss, Morgan and Rossi are waiting. 

"And who do we have here?" Rossi gets up from the table, putting his hand out. 

"This is Special Agent Y/F/N Y/L/N," Hotch makes the introduction for you, "Y/L/N, this is David Rossi." 

You shake Rossi's hand firmly and say with a smile, "it's nice to meet you, sir. I've heard a lot about you."

"Likewise," he returns the smile. "I read up on your past work. Very skilled stuff." 

"Thank you," you appreciate the compliment, replying back in a sweet voice, "I hope I can be of help in this team." 

Morgan practically spits out his coffee, making everyone turn to him, to which he responds, "just drop the act already!"

You hold back your chuckle to say, "what are you saying, Agent Morgan?" 

"Rossi can see through it, Y/L/N," Morgan responds. 

"Oh," you act surprised, turning back to Rossi. Then, with your eyes locked on his, you say with a cheeky grin, "I know." 

Rossi laughs at your statement coupled with Morgan's face, before saying, "I like her." 

"What did I miss?" Reid comes in, followed quickly by J.J and Garcia. 

"I was just introduced to our new member, Y/L/N," Rossi answers. 

"Just wait until she steals your ID," Prentiss replies, "you'll be really introduced then."

"I never stole anything of yours, Agent Prentiss!" You tell her, batting your eyelashes at her. 

" _Sure_ ," she rebuttals. "What's in the bag?" 

Prentiss gestures to your go-bag, which has the zipper slightly open. 

"Y/L/N," Hotch says your last name in a stern tone, "did you take something?" 

Everyone, except Rossi, checks their wallets and their pockets for anything you could've swiped on the way in. 

You can't help but break out into a fit of laughter, seeing everyone scramble. 

"Okay, okay," you stop them all before they tear the room apart, "I'll give them back." 

You unzip your bag and pull out a stack of FBI badges. You hand them out, giving Rossi his last. 

"When did you take this from me?" He asks you, curious.

"When you put your hand out to shake mine," you admit, with a wink. 

"Enough," Hotch cuts the shenanigans short, "there will be no more of that, Y/L/N. You're on a team now. There will be repercussions." 

You reach into your pocket, pulling out Hotch's keys, spinning them around your finger before saying, "my bad. Last time, I promise." 

He groans and takes his keys back from you, shoving them back into his pocket. You can tell that he's wondering when you found the time to take it, along with the team's badges. He had his eyes on you practically the entire time, but you still slipped out of reach. 

You're a bit _too_ good at pickpocketing. 

When everyone has settled, J.J presents the case. Four bodies have turned up in San Francisco. All men that had been reported missing a week prior to their deaths. 

Each with the same death signature. 

"That's…an interesting one," you cringe at the sight. 

"The unsub shoots the men in the groin then leaves them to bleed out," J.J states what the medical examiner had reported, "all the victims either died of rapid blood loss or, in one case, shock." 

J.J continues with the briefing regarding the victims. How their dead bodies were found, all in warehouses encompassing the Financial District. That they were most likely being held captive for a week before their unpleasant deaths. 

"What are the victim's marital statuses?" Hotch asks, trying to work on victimology.

"They were all...recently divorced," J.J responds and the team goes silent for a moment.

"So our unsub is targeting a very specific victim," Reid tries to get everyone back on track.

"Not specific enough," Morgan asserts, "we need to find out what more they have in common. We can't just tell every recently divorced man to protect their balls." 

"They should, regardless of a vengeful unsub," you comment. 

You get a chuckle out of Prentiss and a death glare from Hotch, which was your goal. 

"Tell SFPD we'll be there," Hotch wraps up the briefing and everyone heads to the airport. 

You spend most of the jet ride going over the belongings each man had on their bodies when they died. The unsub had left behind the victim's ID, so that the police could identify the victim immediately. 

The unsub wants the police to know who the victims are. There has to be a reason why. 

"We just got another body," J.J tells the team as you all land at SFO. 

"Tell them not to touch anything, please," you urge her. "I think I might have something, but I need to check to be sure and I don't want to wait for another body to see if I'm right."

J.J quickly tells the SFPD and turns back to you, saying, "they said they want to ID the body ASAP so you need to go straight there."

"Got it, thank you," you reply. 

Hotch quickly divides everyone into teams, one of which is you and him. You and Hotch go directly to the crime scene and you quickly throw on a pair of gloves, rushing past all the officers, flashing your FBI badge. 

Never thought you'd be doing that again… 

"Y/L/N, wait!" Hotch shouts as he jogs to catch up with you. 

"Has anyone touched the body?" You ask the officers that are on the scene and they shake their heads. "Anyone got a pair of scissors?" 

The medical examiner hands you a pair and you nod in thanks, before making your way past them to the body. 

Like every other victim, the man is tied up to a chair, rendering him incapable of fighting back. Then, he is shot right in the groin, left to bleed out. 

Hotch hovers behind you as you follow your hunch. You kneel down next to the body, then you take your scissors and cut his left pocket out, pushing the flap back to reveal his ID, which is covered in blood. 

"Can you take a photo for me?" You ask Hotch and he listens, snapping a quick shot of your handiwork. 

You then turn to the officers and the medical examiner, giving the scissors back.

"So sorry for the delay," you tell them, "I needed to confirm my suspicions, but you may proceed now." 

They all shuffle in to do their work as you walk Hotch away from the scene to discuss your findings, immediately tossing your blood covered gloves aside, saying, "I was right. His ID was placed in his pocket, postmortem."

"How do you know that?" Hotch asks, looking at the photo he had taken. 

You point at the bloody ID and explain, "you would've thought the blood was just from the residue that seeped into his pocket, but if you look closely, the blood was spread like it had been slid against the fabric. As if there was already blood on the ID when the unsub put it into his pocket. Do you get where I'm going with this?"

Hotch swallows, and replies, "there was only one place he would've been bleeding from." 

"Yep," you squirm at the thought, "and why else would you place the ID of your victim on his bloody groin?" 

"To snap a memory of it," he follows what you're implying, "the unsub is collecting photos as souvenirs. Or worse…" 

Hotch quickly gets Garcia on the phone and asks her to look for websites where such photos might circulate. 

With her magic, Garcia is able to find the photos being posted on a men-hating forum. The photos had been flagged but the photos that were posted deliberately blurred out the victim's information and were shot from the waist down, so no one would be able to pinpoint them to this crime. The unsub must've kept the clearer images for their own viewing pleasure. 

After Hotch briefs the rest of the team on your findings, they present a profile based off of the unsub's postings on the forum and all the other combined findings. 

"The unsub we're looking for is a woman who is on a murder spree for vengence. She is looking specifically for recently divorced men. It is likely that she is also recently divorced, and in the same age range as her victims. She holds them captive at an unknown location for a week before brutally incapacitating them and leaving them to die. She is calculated, methodical and will not stop until her vengeance is completed…" 

When the briefing is over, J.J releases the profile to the press and you all drive to the hotel together. You could all use some rest after a long day of investigation. 

"I'm exhausted," you let out a tired breath as you walk into your hotel room, immediately lying face down on the bed. 

"Good work today," Hotch's voice catches you by surprise and you dart up from the bed, seeing him standing at the door that connects both your rooms.

"How do you keep managing to find hotels that still have this connecting door feature?" You glare at him, though it doesn't hold. You're too tired to be annoyed. 

"I didn't even plan on it this time," he replies and his body language shows that he's being truthful. 

"Right," you say with rolled eyes, sitting down at the edge of the bed. You rub your eyes, unable to take the image of that murdered man out of your mind. 

You listen to his footsteps as Hotch walks over, taking a seat next to you, saying, "I meant what I said. You're good at what you do. You may have saved us a few days of investigation." 

"I know I'm good," you say, before pulling his ID out of your pocket. 

"Why am I not surprised?" He shakes his head disapprovingly, taking it back from you, and you laugh for a bit before the exhaustion creeps over you. 

You turn to tell him, "I'm really tired…" 

"I'm not here for that," he reassures you and you smile softly at him, thankful he understands. 

A silence fills the room while you both sit there. It's a kind of quiet you never thought you'd ever get with Hotch. 

Normally, there's no room for quiet, unless it was to emphasize sexual tension. 

This quiet…it's a peaceful, shared kind of quiet. 

With him only a few inches away, your eyes locked on his and your heart starts to ache. It was undeniable that he was handsome, that he had the kind of gaze that just sucked you right in and made you melt. 

_Don't do it_ , you tell yourself, _don't even think about it._

For just a brief moment, you feel him lean forward, or maybe it's you that leans forward, and you can smell the same soap you used this morning on him, and his breath on your lips. 

You're drowning in him. You need to swim back to the surface before… 

Hotch gets up from the bed and hastily tells you goodnight, turning away and leaving before you can even reply back. 

The words 'goodnight' slip out of your lips, but he isn't there to hear it. He abruptly shuts the door behind him, your words lost in the sound. 

You walk up to your door, shutting your side, then you lean up against the door, sliding down to the floor, putting your face in your knees. 

Hotch has never said goodnight to you. He never does. It is a casualty neither of you can afford and yet…he did it. Why? 

"Don't make it harder than it already is, Hotch," you whisper under your breath before getting up, biting back a sob. 

You fall asleep quickly, trying to escape from what just happened…all while Hotch is trying to process what he had just done. 

With his hand over his face, he shakes his head before letting out a sigh. He can't get it out of his head. 

That soft smile of yours. 

It was the first time you genuinely smiled at him. No jokes, no act. It was a real smile, just for him. 

What he wouldn't give to see it again…but he knows he has to stop himself from even having such a thought cross his mind. 

He can't be kind to you. He can't get close to you. 

He promised you he wouldn't. 

It was for his own good, too. 

So, he falls asleep, wishing that your smile would leave his mind… 

The case runs cold for a few days, anxiously waiting for a new person to be reported missing, or to wind up dead. 

Reid works on triangulating the crime scenes and manages to connect every warehouse/abandoned building to a property management firm, who owns all the places where the murders had taken place. 

"So, our unsub is using these places as her execution ground," Prentiss notes as everyone sits in the SFPD conference room, where you all have set up base for the time being, "we just need to find where she's keeping them."

"And what is she doing with them," Rossi adds, "there's no reason to keep them for a week, unless she was doing _something_ to them." 

"What could she be doing?" Morgan asks, tapping his pen against the table, thinking, "the medical examiner found no signs of torture. The only bondage wounds are the ones around the wrists and ankles from being held to the metal chair, all of which are maybe a day old, so she doesn't keep them bound when they're in her captivity."

"Maybe she's drugging them," Reid interjects, "incapacitating them that way." 

"So, someone with a medical background now?" You shake your head. It just feels off.

"Anyone can get access to these kinds of drugs," Reid points out, "the internet is chalked full of recipes for chemical cocktails." 

"But what is she doing with them, if she's drugged them," Hotch lets out a frustrated sigh, the lines not connecting. 

"Could she be sexually assaulting them?" Prentiss decides to stake a claim. 

"She could be, but why? Doesn't she hate men?" You feel like something's wrong, but you can't pinpoint what it is. This case is just…too odd. 

"It's late," J.J informs everyone, "we'll reconvene tomorrow. I think we can all use a break from this back and forth."

Everyone files out accordingly but Prentiss comes up to you, pulling you aside for a second. 

"Want to grab drinks with us?" She invites you out with her and J.J.

"Sure," you agree, wanting to be anywhere but your hotel room right now. 

"Great, let's go," J.J grabs her things and you all head out together. 

"Where are you all going?" Hotch catches the three of you out on the street. He stands next to the car with Morgan, Reid and Rossi. 

None of you reply, you all just chuckle and walk away, leaving the boys with confused expressions on their face.

"I swear," Prentiss says after downing a shot, "there's nothing stuffier than being in a room with four brooding men all day."

"Tell me about it," J.J takes a sip of her cocktail, "I've been exhausted explaining every detail to every police officer I run into."

"You've got your work cut out for you," you tell her, sipping on your water. 

"You don't drink?" Prentiss asks, "I don't mean to pry…" 

"It's fine," you respond, "I just don't really like drinking, at least not when I'm out." 

"It's a scary world we live in, especially as women," J.J raises her glass to that, "can't always feel safe, but I do enjoy the cute drinks every now and then." 

The bartender leans over the edge and gestures to you, saying, "there's a man here who wants to buy you a drink."

"Oh yeah?" You turn to him, saying with a smirk, "who?"

He gestures to a handsome, middle-aged man who is having a beer at the end of the bar. 

Prentiss and J.J both give you the 'you should talk to him' look and you decide why not! 

You take your glass of water and walk over to the empty seat beside him and say, "I heard you want to buy me a drink."

"I do," he tells you, his voice smooth like silk. 

"How much does another water cost?" You say to the bartender. 

"How much do you want me to charge him?" The bartender jokes. 

"Let me think," you look at the man up and down. 

The man obviously makes a lot of money. Expensive suits, shoes, _socks_. Who the hell buys expensive socks? 

Probably a closet narcissist, but you shove that profile aside for a second. 

He works in tech, from the way the calluses have built on his fingers. He works out, surprisingly, but mostly inside, since he has no residue of a tan. Maybe during his breaks.

Then, something catches your eye. 

"If he shows me a picture of his dog, no charge," you tell the bartender.

"How did you know I have a dog?" He asks you and you point to the dog fur on his ankles.

"You must've come home, walked him real quick, then came here for a nice beer," you make an educated guess.

"Nice work," he tells you, "you a detective?"

"Maybe," you smirk. "Show me the dog first."

He pulls out his phone and shows you a photo of a beautiful dachshund. You love it. It's so adorable! 

" _Her_ name's Wendy," he says in his smooth voice, "and I'm Peter." 

"Cute," you lean in, whispering, "I'm Y/N." 

A smile forms on his face as he goes, "you aren't from around here, are you?"

"What gave it away?" You ask. 

"Everything about you." 

A real sweet talker. 

You decide to push him a little, for fun. 

"So...how long have you and your wife been separated?" You suddenly inquire, catching him off guard.

"How did you…" 

"You dropped this," you pull a photo out of your pocket, "when you took your phone out." 

It's a photo of him and his wife, that you purposefully pulls out of his wallet when he was distracted. He still carries it in his wallet. That isn't a good sign… 

"A few months now," he admits, taking the photo from you, putting it back into his wallet. 

"Is it hard, trying to see new people?" You ask because you're genuinely curious. 

"Yeah," he lets out a long sigh, "I just…I feel like I can easily talk to people but I can't form a connection, like I'm always going to these events but I just…it's hard."

"Because you still love your wife?" You decide to just tell him what he can't confess to himself. He seems surprised by your words so you explain, "why else would you still have a photo of her in your wallet?" 

He lets out another sigh, knowing that you're right, as he says, "sorry for wasting your time."

"It's no problem, truly," you put your hand on his, "you should tell her."

He shakes his head, admitting, "she…she doesn't love me anymore. I work too much. I never have time for her. I…I can't give her a baby." 

"Make time," you squeeze his hand, "tell her you love her. Find a way." 

Peter blinks for a moment, considering your words, then he goes, "alright. Yeah, I will. I'll tell her. Fuck it, what do I have to lose?" 

"That's the spirit," you say with a pat on the back and he pulls you in for a hug all of a sudden. 

Damn, he's strong. If you were actually profiling him, you'd say he's probably good in the-

"Can I get your number?" He interrupts your thoughts, "I'd like to call you sometime." 

"Sure," you say, scribbling down your phone number. He quickly calls you, so you have his and you tell him, "good luck." 

"I'll call you later," he gives you a quick peck on the cheek before heading out. 

You chuckle, turning back to the bartender, saying, "I could use that water right about now. Extra ice." 

Prentiss and J.J walk over to you, taking the seats beside you, and Prentiss breaks the silence, "so, how did it go?"

"He has a wife," you say, before taking a sip of your ice cold water.

"Yikes," J.J responds. 

"But, he did tell me something interesting," you point out to them, "he said he's recently separated and goes to events, presumably for people like him. What if our unsub is picking her targets from a pool of men at a singles event?" 

"Good hunting grounds," Prentiss adds it all up, "she finds someone who fits her victimology, she takes him home, then a week later, kills him." 

"We need to see if any of these men had attended an event like this. This is something their family wouldn't know about but maybe their friends do," J.J makes a note in her phone to investigate it in the morning. 

"First week on the job and it feels like I'll never stop working," you let out a tired sigh before drinking the rest of your water. "I think I'll head back now." 

"Alright, see you in the morning," Prentiss says, patting you on the back, "good work."

"Goodnight," J.J waves goodbye to you. 

You walk out of the bar, taking a deep breath of the cold, foggy air. The hotel is only a few blocks away so you decide to idle a bit. You go to a local convenience store, pick up some candy, then make your way back. 

Only to have a very familiar voice call out to you from a car, "get in." 

It's Hotch, _and he doesn't look happy_. 

You get in the car and he drives you both back to the hotel, but this time, the ride isn't quiet. 

"What the hell are you doing out alone?" He asks you, his concern tinted with anger. 

"I left the bar early," you answer, "got tired." 

"You shouldn't be walking back this late by yourself," he says, turning into the hotel parking lot.

"I'm a grown woman," you say, raising your eyebrow at him, "I think I can handle myself."

"You need to be more cautious," he turns off the ignition, "you don't know what could happen."

"I'm not going to live my life in fear, Hotch," you tell him before getting out of the car, not wanting to hear another word. 

You hold your paper bag of candy and take big steps towards the hotel, getting into the elevator. 

However, right as the elevator doors are about to close, Hotch manages to squeeze between them. You're now stuck going up fourteen floors with your seriously pissed off boss. 

What could possibly go wrong? 

"Look, Y/N," Hotch sounds as if he's about to start off a lengthy lecture about street safety but you're honestly too tired to listen to it.

So, you interject, saying, "just tell me why you're actually angry right now." 

"What-"

"Aaron," you address him by his first name. He's taken back, surprised, which gives you enough room to assert, "you obviously are pissed about something, but it has nothing to do with me buying candy at a 7-11 a block away from our hotel. So, what is it?" 

The elevator dings and you've reached your floor. You stand there, arms folded, waiting for a response. 

"I don't have all night," you tell him, gesturing to the elevator opening, "you've got maybe 30 seconds before the door shuts." 

There is a stillness in the air and Hotch knows he has to say something or else you'll just up and leave. 

So, he says, "who the hell is he?" 

"Who?" You raise your eyebrow. 

"The guy at the end of the bar," Hotch elaborates, "I saw you talking with him." 

"You were there?" Your eyes widen. You were so distracted by Prentiss and J.J, you didn't even scan the room. 

Though, knowing Hotch, he probably picked the one place in the bar where you couldn't see him but he could see you. 

"You're on the job," he vocalizes, "you shouldn't be out here, looking for-"

"Are you fucking kidding me right now?" You shove past him, right as the elevator begins to shut. 

You quickly make your way back to your hotel room, shutting the door behind you. But, Hotch catches it before it closes, inviting himself in.

"Leave me alone," you tell him, tossing your candy aside and kicking off your shoes, regretting your decision to wear heels, "I'm not dealing with your shit tonight." 

"It's unprofessional to be picking up men with your coworkers present," Hotch walks up to you. 

Without your heels, he really towers over you, especially now with his intimidating face. 

However, you don't budge. Instead, you decide to play his game. 

You utter, "unprofessional? Like my boss coming into my hotel room?" 

"I can do what I want," he declares and you roll your eyes at his words. 

"Not tonight," you point to the door, "get the fuck out, Hotch." 

"Are you always going to be this defiant?" He asks, closing the gap of space between the two of you in a matter of seconds. Your heartbeat suddenly quickens as you begin to smell his aftershave.

He's too close now. Way too close. 

"Have you always been like this?" Hotch demands an answer. 

"Only to you," you spit back with a smirk on your face.

"Why?" His nose scrunches when he's angry. 

"Because you're the only one stupid enough to think I was flirting with that man," you respond rather harshly. "If you had just taken the time to think, you would've realized that if I was flirting with him, _he would've come back here with me_." 

"You'd fuck another man with me right next door?" He grits his teeth. 

"Happily," you say back without an ounce of regret. "You got a problem with that?" 

You might just have done it. 

You might just have made Hotch explode. 

"Get on your knees," he commands.

"Get the fuck out of my hotel room," you rebuttal. 

"I won't ask again," Hotch's eyes are fiery and determined.

"Neither will I," you bite back with the same force. 

Hotch then proceeds to pull off his tie and takes your wrists, wrapping it firmly around them. You protest, trying to break free, but his knot is strong. 

"What the hell do you think you're doing!" You shout, tugging on your restraints.

"Making sure you learn to listen to your boss," Hotch says forcefully. 

Then, he drags you over to the couch that was in your room and sits down, yanking you down to your knees by your tied wrists. With one hand, he holds you in place. 

With the other, he undoes his belt and unbuttons his pants, pulling out his length. You swallow, biting the inside of your lip.

You've really done it now… 

"You know what you have to do," he tells you, "don't make me tell you." 

You clench your teeth, not wanting to give in, but he tugs your face right into his lap, his eyes demanding. 

You've never taken him in your mouth before. He saved that for this moment. 

So, you decide that this is the moment you'd flip this punishment on him. If he wants you to suck his dick, he better be ready for what you have in store.

You act like the submissive he assumes you will be and you lean down, putting your lips around his cock, before taking him all the way in your mouth. 

You're surprised he manages to fit when he fucks you normally. He barely fits in your mouth, you're practically choking. 

Hotch keeps one hand on your tied wrists, making sure you don't squirm away, while he moves the other to push back your hair, holding it in place so he can watch you suck him off. 

It takes you a bit to adjust to him in your mouth but slowly you get a rhythm going. That, coupled with your seductive gaze upwards, is enough to make Hotch groan in pleasure. 

You slide your mouth off him for a moment to run your tongue up his length, before saying, "is this really your idea of a punishment?" 

Hotch doesn't reply, he just takes his hand and shoves your mouth back down onto him, nearly hitting your gag reflex, silencing you. You steady yourself, taking him in again, continuing your previous pace. 

You know he's close when he lays his head back against the couch with his hand on your head, holding you just where he wants you. You feel his cum shoot into your mouth and you swallow every bit with your eyes locked on his. 

He pulls you off him to put his belt back on and says, "come here." 

Hotch drags you to your feet by your tied wrists and opens the connecting doors. You realize now that he never locked his door. 

Good to know. 

He throws you onto his bed and gets on top of you, holding you down as he adjusts his tie, tying your wrists to the bed frame. 

"Are you serious!" You tug at your restraints. 

"You asked if that was your punishment," Hotch says, shaking his head. "It wasn't. _This is_." 

Hotch pulls your pants off and rips your blouse open, exposing your bra and panties. Then, he leans down and for the next few minutes, he fills your skin with kiss marks. 

All in sensitive areas. All places that can be hidden underneath your clothes. 

He was marking his territory. He was making sure that you could never bring someone over. 

How else would you explain all these hickies? 

You hated how just the feeling of his lips against your skin is enough to make you crave his touch. 

When he finishes his marking, he comes up to your lips and says, "now what am I going to do with you?" 

"Let me sleep?" You suggest, making him smirk. 

"You can't sleep until I've given you something to dream about."

You've never heard him so... _seductive_ before. Normally he just speaks in his standard tone of voice. Dry, yes. Hot, definitely. 

However, this alluring Hotch is too much for you. Especially with his wandering fingers, making their way to your core, slowly rubbing you through your underwear. He tugs them down and then leans down against you. 

Suddenly, you feel his tongue on your clit at the exact same time as two fingers enter you. You let out an involuntary moan and you feel him smile against you, pissing you off. 

"What's wrong?" He asks you as he curves his fingers inside of you, hitting you in just the right spot, making you arch your back, craving more. 

"I fucking hate you," you answer, before breathing out another pleasurable sigh as his tongue goes back to your clit. 

Hotch continues licking your clit with his fingers inside of you. You can already feel your first climax coming and it hits you out of nowhere. He keeps his pace steady with his fingers, letting you ride out your climax. 

But, he doesn't stop there.

He keeps going, making you cum over and over again. 

You've surely lost count. You're drowning in the feeling of his hot tongue and rough fingers. 

"Do you want me to stop?" He asks you after you orgasm against his fingers once again. 

You can't answer him. You don't want to. 

It feels too good to stop… 

Hotch moves his mouth away from your core and comes back up towards you, to whisper in your ear, "remember this next time you think about letting anyone else touch you." 

He pulls his fingers out of you then and he shows you how wet you are. You shiver at both the sight and the sudden emptiness. 

Your wrists are immediately untied but…you can't move. Your legs are weak. Your arms are tired from being tied up. You curl up in his bed, exhausted, breathing heavy from all your orgasms. 

You don't know how long you were laying there for, but a few moments later, Hotch comes back and begins to undress you. You protest at first, but you're too tired to fight it. Then, he picks you up into his arms and takes you into his bathroom, where he's drawn a bath for you.

He gently sets you in the warm bath, which relaxes your tired muscles immediately. You sink in blissfully, letting out a sigh, followed by a smile. 

"Thanks," you tell him instinctively. It was nice of him to run you a bath, albeit a bit surprising. You never really thought there'd be aftercare in your relationship with him. 

Is that a good or bad thing? 

"Don't stay too long, you'll look like a prune," is his cold reply. 

You let out a laugh then tease, "why? You wouldn't fuck a prune?" 

He rolls his eyes at your joke and leaves the bathroom, giving you the privacy to wash up. 

The inviting warmth coupled with the sweet, sudsy bath makes your eyes droopy and you don't know when you ended up falling asleep but you did. 

Hotch comes back after you don't reply to him calling your name and sees you asleep. He stands there, looking at the peaceful expression on your face. He leans down and…drains the bath, before helping you to sit up at the edge. He dries you off the best he can before throwing one of his shirts over you, then picks you up into his arms. 

It's hard not to breathe in your sweet smell, the smell he's come so accustomed to. He lets out a sigh, placing you gently on his bed, throwing the covers over you.

You relax immediately, curling up in the safety of the blanket, and he smiles lightly, brushing the wet pieces of hair away from your face. 

All he wants is to kiss you because you look so beautiful, but he knows the moment he gives into these feelings, he'll never be able to let you go. 

So, he gets up from the bed, and promptly falls asleep on the couch. 

You both dream of each other, a dream that would stay just that.

A dream.


	4. Shell Shocked

You wake up to Hotch getting dressed, tying his tie in the vanity mirror. You rub your eyes, surprised to see him in your room…until you realize you're in _his_ room. 

"What happened?" You ask with a yawn.

"You fell asleep in the bath," he tells you, "so I let you sleep here." 

You turn to your side and see that the bed isn't slept in on that side. Hotch must've slept on the couch. 

"Sorry," you apologize but Hotch brushes it off.

"It's unsafe to fall asleep in the bath, you should be more careful," Hotch finally gets the knot just right, neatly setting it on his button up shirt. 

When does he have time to press all the wrinkles out? You haven't the slightest clue… 

You think about what he had said though. You fell asleep in the bath. You look down and see that you're wearing an unfamiliar gray shirt. 

It must be his.

"Do you want your shirt back?" You ask, your hands on the edges, about to take it off.

"Keep it," he tells you, stopping you from stripping in front of him. "Give it back to me when we're done here. You could use a change-up in your sleep apparel."

You scoff at his joke, getting up from bed, telling him, "it's a bit boring for my tastes, but I guess free _is_ free!"

You head over to the door connecting your rooms but Hotch speaks up before you leave, saying, "are you okay?"

You turn back, your hand on the doorknob, tilting your head at his strange question. You read his eyes, watching as they look up and down your body. Then, you look at your wrists, with the soft redness from his tie, almost undetectable. Anyone could get this by just having too tight of a cuffed sleeve. 

In the vanity mirror, you see that in the collar of the shirt, it dips just low enough to show one of the many kiss marks Hotch had left on you last night. 

Hotch looks at you with some kind of emotion in his eyes. You can't seem to decipher what it is though. 

All you know is that it's new. He's never looked at you with such… _unease_. 

"I think you know I'm okay," you respond back, "the question is: are you?" 

"I am," Hotch says in his regular tone of voice, "I just had to be sure you were up for it." 

"Of course," you tell him, "you'd know if I wasn't." 

"And you'd tell me if you weren't?" Hotch asks, needing verbal confirmation. 

You step back into his room and walk up to him, looking up into his eyes as you say, "everything we do together, I want to do. If you need me to be more clear about that, then here I am, telling you. I know you'd never do anything intentional to harm me and if you did, I have a gun now, so…you don't want to end up like our unsub's victims, do you?"

"Understood," he nods, "I just wanted to be sure."

"I appreciate it," you pat him lightly on the arm before waving goodbye and entering your room, "I'll see you in the lobby, with the team." 

You take a deep breath, not expecting that at all. Hotch just keeps surprising you. He really is a gentleman at heart. 

Only at heart though. He's much fiercer in bed. 

You quickly change into a more conservative outfit, covering yourself up for both the cold fog and all the hickies decorating your body. 

Before you do, however, you stare at yourself in the mirror, taking in the sight. He really left no place unmarked. 

Everywhere you turned, a new one would appear. 

You wondered if they'd ever disappear… 

You hadn't thought of the day you and Hotch ended whatever you both had. The thought doesn't make you sad or fill you with regret. It merely…was a thought. 

Everything ends eventually and you're prepared for it, to a certain extent. You've removed all emotion, all attachment. Nothing to be left behind except hot memories. 

Nothing to miss…at least that's what you tell yourself to get you through it. 

You meet the team in the lobby and are divided up into teams. You go with Prentiss and Morgan to interview the friends of the victims while everyone else helps Garcia sift through singles events that took place before the times of the murders. 

And…nothing. 

"How do his friends know _nothing_ about his dating life?" You groan, leaning back on the passenger seat. 

"Maybe the unsub targets these men because she knows they're hiding it," Prentiss jolts down some notes, trying to piece things together. 

"This case is going on way too long," Morgan lets out a sigh, "another man is going to end up dead soon and we haven't gotten anywhere." 

"No new reports of missing men?" You turn to Morgan, who is driving, and he shakes his head. 

"It's a delicate position to be in," Prentiss comments. "Recently divorced, probably moved out of the house or lives alone in a once-shared space. Wife probably doesn't check up on him. Maybe his friends don't either…" 

"You're saying our next victim might end up dead before he's ever reported missing?" Morgan asks. 

"It's a possibility," Prentiss answers. "They might just assume he's taking a break at home." 

You blink a few times, thinking about what Prentiss just said, then go, "holy shit."

"What is it?" She inquires but you're fumbling for your phone, calling Reid.

"Hey, Reid," you say to him, putting him on speaker for everyone to hear, "the victim's homes, where they're currently living, are they close to where the crime scenes took place?" 

"Uh, let me check…" Reid is at the police station, working on the geographical profile, before answering, "they're all in the predicted area of comfort for the unsub, if that answers your question." 

You look at Morgan and Prentiss and then go, "I think she's keeping them in their own houses." 

"We missed something then," Morgan says, turning the car around, "we need to check out those homes again." 

"I'll let Rossi, Hotch and J.J know where you're going," Reid tells you before hanging up. 

You quickly phone Garcia and tell her to see if the IP addresses from the uploads match any of the victim's computers. The first one does, while the later ones are masked. 

"We know now that she goes back to use their computers to upload the photos," Prentiss gathers the information up aloud, "which probably means she has things she needs to clean up before she can leave. Why else would she come back?" 

"It's part of her ritual," you answer, "she needs to kill, then come back and clean the mess. Uploading is just part of her cleaning process…" 

"So, I'm the unsub," Morgan tells you and Prentiss as he walks through the last victim's house, "and I somehow convince a man to drop everything he's doing and go off the grid for a week. How do I go about doing this?"

"Maybe she's offering them a service," Prentiss theorizes, "like a retreat, but at home." 

"Could be where the drugs come in," you think aloud, "she has a con, convinces them to use her product and boom, sedated man ripe for the taking." 

You peek out the front of the house and notice a neighbor rolling out their trash cans to be picked up. The trash cans for your victim's house are still sitting in the front of the house. Why would… 

"Give me a second," you tell Prentiss and Morgan, before jogging outside to say, "hey, wait!" 

The neighbor stops and you flash your FBI badge and he answers, "ah, you're here investigating the murder? Poor guy…"

"I am. Can I ask you a few questions?" 

He nods, gesturing for you to ask away.

"Did you happen to see who rolled out these trash cans?" You point to them. 

"No, I didn't, but I found it a bit odd," he says.

"Odd?" You raise your eyebrow at his statement.

"Trash pick up is normally every week on Monday mornings, but this week, they moved it later on in the week, to Friday, because of the upcoming holiday weekend and everyone was notified by email, but his trash cans have been out here since Sunday night. I figured he just forgot, but then I heard the news and…" 

It's Thursday night. That trash was supposed to be picked up Monday. 

_There's evidence in that trash._

"Thank you so much," you tell the neighbor, before calling SFPD, telling them to bring bags for evidence. 

You and the team then spend the rest of the day digging through trash, finding a good amount of things with trace DNA, along with… 

"A pregnancy test," J.J takes one look then puts it in the evidence bag.

"A lot of them," you count at least five, which is almost one a day, looking at the result. "They're all negative."

"She was trying to get pregnant," Hotch deduces, "but why?" 

"Maybe that's why her husband left her," Rossi scribbles down something in his notes, "she's infertile but can't admit it. She blames the men for not being able to get her pregnant after a week of trying nonstop. Then, she kills them." 

"She didn't always kill them though," you comment, getting up from the pile of trash, "there must've been a stressor to make her escalate to murder, which means…" 

"There might be a man out there who knows who she is," Reid follows what you're saying. "Perhaps the first person she dated after her divorce. She most likely sexually assaulted him in hopes of getting pregnant." 

Hotch then goes to the SFPD and asks if anyone had reported a woman sexually assaulting a man in the last few months. 

The SFPD pulls up the records but there isn't anything. Likelihood is, he never reported it. 

J.J hosts a press conference to urge any men who have been sexually assaulted in the last few months to come forward, anonymously, as it is looking like the unsub is both a serial killer and rapist. 

Calls start pouring in and you and the team help the SFPD listen through all of them. They're heart-wrenching to say the least and listening to each call gets more and more difficult... 

That is, until one call comes in that matches the profile. 

"Yeah, uh, I saw this on the news. I…I was raped, I think, I don't know. It was weird. She-well we were dating for a bit and she kept asking me to not use a condom and I ain't about to not use a condom, y'know? But I had a feeling she was poking holes in them, or something. Then one night, I woke up and saw her, uh, on top of me and I wasn't wearing a condom. I felt a little high, I almost didn't realize it was happening. I don't do drugs, or anything like that, but that's what it felt like. Then afterwards, when I was coming down from that high, she started _hitting me_. In the goods. Man, it was weird, I had to get the hell out of there and I haven't called her since. I don't really know how to feel about it, I thought maybe she was just a bit crazy, but uh…if it helps…her name is Maria Yates." 

Right when a name appeared, Garcia ran it through every database she had, pulling up as many records as she could on the possible suspect. 

"This could be our unsub," Morgan reads off her report, "she's divorced, albeit not super recently, matches the age range, fits the agenda with the battery and assault." 

"What happened to her husband?" Prentiss asks.

Garcia, being on an open line, answers, "he got remarried about a month later...and his now wife has a baby."

"Infidelity," Reid sums it up, "obvious motive. She resents her ex-husband for giving his current wife a child but not her. Because she can't kill him, she goes out and kills people who fit his profile. Likelihood is, all our victims resemble her ex in some way." 

"But why the postings on the website?" You try to decipher that bit. 

"In a way, she's reducing these men to just their genitalia as a form of identification," Rossi answers, "as if she's saying 'this is all a man is', by placing his ID there." 

"Bad time to be a man," J.J says. 

"We got a name, we got a warrant, let's go," Hotch rallies the team and you all head over to the suspect's home. 

You haven't had to wear a bulletproof vest or carry a gun in a long time. It feels odd, all the extra weight as you point your gun, room to room, yelling 'clear'. With every room checked, you've concluded. 

There's no one here.

"She's already with another victim," you shove your gun back into its holster, annoyed. 

It feels like you're always one step behind. You're exhausted. 

"No matter what, we'll catch her," Hotch tells you, noting your irritation. 

"Before or after another innocent man dies?" You glare up at him, letting out a defeated sigh. 

"There has to be a way to know who she's with now," Morgan says as he looks around her house, sifting through her things. 

You sit down, needing to take a break, putting your head in your hands. 

"Tough break," Rossi says, sitting down next to you, "what a case to rejoin the force to." 

"Tell me about it," you say with a tired laugh. 

"You're doing as much as you can do, Y/L/N," Rossi tries to reassure you, "you can't beat yourself up too much." 

"I'm trying," you reply, rubbing your hands nervously against your knees, "I'm really trying." 

Rossi pats you on the back before getting up, going over to help the rest of the team search. You don't know why but you can't seem to do anything right now. 

Was it the fear of losing someone else that's holding you back? Was it something else? 

There's too many pieces to this case, all pieces that seem to fit but only sort of. 

It feels like there's something missing, but you can't pinpoint it. 

"Go get some rest," Hotch's familiar voice interrupts your thoughts. 

"I'm fine," you tell him, standing up to meet him. "The team will be here all night if I don't lend a hand." 

"I don't think you'll make it through the night if you don't get some rest," Hotch seems genuinely concerned, like this morning. 

"How can I rest when there's a man out there who needs our help?" Your heart aches as you say that. "God, why can't I just-"

You grow more and more tired by the second, your mind racing with too many thoughts. Then, you see something in your vision. 

A piece of candy. A lollipop. 

Your favorite flavor. 

You stare at it and realize it's in Hotch's hand. 

"Where did you get that?" You ask him, the sight bringing light back into your eyes. 

"You aren't the only one who can steal stuff," he smirks, hinting that he had taken it from your hotel room. 

"Not the best work I've seen," you say back with a chuckle, "but I appreciate the effort."

You take the candy from him and pop it in your mouth. Somehow, the sweet taste is enough to help ease the tension in your head. 

You chuckle then comment, "it feels like I'm getting a lollipop after…" 

You blink. The thoughts rushing through your mind again. 

Then, you quickly flip on your phone and call Garcia, asking, "what's our unsub's occupation?" 

"She doesn't work but she has a dental license," Garcia tells you.

"Thanks," you hang up the phone, turning to Hotch, an epiphany going off in your brain, " _she's a dentist_."

"Okay, walk me through it," Hotch wants you to continue, seeing the determined look in your eye. 

"She meets them at single events, then she convinces them to let her come over for a private dental session. She drugs them with laughing gas, which we wouldn't have tested for, in high enough doses to keep her victims sedated, maybe even induce fainting. She uses them for a week and then when she's done with them, she kills them right as they wake up from their daze."

"Just like the caller…so how do we catch her?" Hotch asks you, forming his own ideas but wanting to hear your thoughts first. 

"Those properties," you call out to Reid, "were they all about to be bought?" 

"Uh yes, actually many of them are going to become medical offices," Reid tells you. 

"She must've interviewed to join a few of these offices, which is why she knows about these vacant buildings," you slowly see everything add up. "If we find out where she interviewed…" 

"We can find her next execution," Hotch gathers everyone to brief them of your findings. 

There is only one building left so you all scramble over there and the unsub is present. It immediately escalates to a hostage situation. There are SFPD officers armed and ready to shoot. You and everyone else have their gun pointed at her.

She holds her victim against her chest, shielding her body with him, her gun pressed to his head. 

"One move and he dies," she shouts frantically. 

There isn't a clean shot on her. If she moves just the slightest, you could accidentally shoot the victim. The man is still in a daze, unable to fight back. She has him restrained and weak, which means he can't run. 

You need to think of something, or two people are going to die tonight. 

So, you put your hands up and say, "Maria, listen to me-"

"Don't come any closer!" She screams, making you freeze in place slightly. 

"Listen…" you start to say.

"Y/L/N, what are you doing?" Hotch glares at you, trying to stop you. 

"I'm going to put my gun down now, okay?" You show her as you set your gun back in your holster. Then, you take off your bulletproof vest, throwing it away from you.

Hotch shouts, "Y/L/N, stop, right now!"

You shake your head, your eyes on her, saying, "Maria, we both know you don't want to kill him. He isn't the man you want to kill, is he?"

She gulps and says, "it doesn't matter. I'll kill him just the same. All men are the same."

"They are," you agree with her, "they're just a means to an end. Their whole purpose is to give us children but they can't give you that, right?"

"They're worthless, they should all die!" She presses the gun harder against her victim's temple. 

"Maybe, but don't you want to live long enough to kill your husband?" You tell her, putting your hand on your chest as a sign of cooperation, "I can help you with that." 

"How could you help me, look at this right now! If I'm going down, I'm taking as many men down with me," she screams maniacally. 

"Point the gun at me," you instruct her. 

"Y/L/N, stand down!" Hotch yells but you ignore him completely. 

Instead, you continue trying to talk to her, "look, I'm an FBI agent. He's just a regular man. If you hold me hostage, you can get much more than a suicide shootout. We can kill your husband together. You and me, Maria. Listen to me. I got your back."

"Why should I listen to you!" She cries out, "you're with them, you're with them, you're-"

In her panic, you slide a photo over to her from your pocket. It's a photo of a man, shot on a sidewalk, dead. 

"That's my husband," you explain, your words shocking everyone on the team, "I killed him and no one ever found out. Look at me. I work for the FBI and no one knew I killed my husband. I got away with it and you can too. I can help you, Maria. Just listen to me, okay?" 

"Did you really?" Maria looks up at you and you can tell she believes you.

"Shot him right in the chest," you say in a stone cold killer kind of a voice, "I made it look like a robbery gone wrong. I cried over his body when the police came. They never even thought it was me. I even had the murder weapon on me, but they never searched me. Look, I'm telling you all this, in front of both my FBI team and the police, because I want to help you. If I didn't, then I'd be going to jail after they shoot you. So, Maria, help me and I'll help you." 

"Y/L/N, this is insane!" Hotch tries to stop this madness but he can see that you're already in too deep.

"I'm going to walk over to you now, okay?" You instruct Maria, as you take one step. She doesn't flinch, letting you take another step, as you continue, "when I get close enough, you're going to drop him to the ground. It's okay because my body will be covering yours, so they can't hit you. Then, point your gun at me and I'll turn around and you can walk right out of here with me, you got that? We'll ask for a car and we'll drive to your husband's house and kill him together."

You come inches closer to her and she listens, dropping the body to the side, her gun pointing at you now. You have your hands up, showing her that you're coming towards her completely defenseless. Morgan walks over, taking the man away from her reach into safety. Then, right when the man is in safety, when she thinks that you're going to turn around to let her grab you, you snatch the gun out of her hand, pointing it back at her in a swift motion. 

She doesn't even have the time to react. 

You barely breathe as you do it. It was all reflex, all adrenaline. 

Your heart is pounding in your ear so you can barely hear Morgan tackle her to the ground, handcuffing her. You can barely hear her screaming "you lying bitch" over and over again. You can barely hear anyone calling your name as you stand there, frozen, with her gun in your hand, shaking. 

Someone comes over and takes the gun from you, walking you towards an ambulance and they wrap a blanket around you. You don't even realize how cold you are.

Shock is a crazy thing. It fills your senses with absolutely everything and nothing at the same time. 

When you're finally warm enough, you blink a few times, seeing Hotch standing before you. You're sitting down at the edge of the ambulance and he towers over you. 

He soon realizes that you've come to and he kneels before you, saying, "that was the stupidest thing you could've done." 

"I know," you answer, "I'm sorry." 

You can feel the tears build up in your eyes but you weren't crying because of Hotch, or because of what happened. You're crying because you're so scared. The fear of your actions finally catching up to you. 

Hotch lets out a sigh, then goes, "don't do anything like that again, alright?" 

You nod your head, showing him you understand. He gets up from his kneel to go tell the team that you're okay. You turn your head to see in the next ambulance over, the victim coming to from his daze. 

You're thankful to have saved his life today. You're thankful to have given Maria a chance to save her own someday. 

Again, however, you ask yourself, at what cost to your own livelihood… 

When you're responsive enough, the team comes up to you and Morgan breaks the silence, asking, "that story you told, was it true?" 

You shake your head, pulling out your wallet, dumping the contents out. You never kept anything in your wallet, except various crime scene photos, which are now all over the floor.

It's fine. You'll print them again. 

"This is why I know none of you will ever steal anything from me," you say with a smirk, "you can't, I got nothing worth stealing." 

"Why do you keep these in your wallet?" Reid asks, picking them up. 

Some of the cases he knows, most of them are printouts from famous cases. If an intelligent unsub were to recognize any of these, your ruse would be up in an instant. 

"For moments like these," you tell him, "you never know when you need to make up a story, or remember an old crime." 

The team takes your sentiment as truth and you all end up back at the airport a few moments later. You've recovered, mostly, and you let out a sigh of relief that this case is now closed. 

"Good work for your first case," Rossi tells you when you get on the jet. "Just try not to get yourself killed during the next one." 

"I'll try, sir," you smile at the team then breathe out, "I must say, I'm ready for the weekend." 

You take your seat at the back of the plane, wanting to get some sleep after everything that happened. You never thought your first case would be this draining but at the same time, rewarding. You felt like you've learned a lot about the job.

Namely the fact that it isn't easy. 

"You can go home when we land, I'll have someone drive you," Hotch tells you as you slowly wake up from your brief nap, "I still have some paperwork to do at the office." 

"The job never ends, does it?" You say with a chuckle. Hotch shakes his head and gives you a small smile in return. 

"I might as well come with," you state, "I have to set up my desk anyways. I'm definitely not waking up early on Monday to do it." 

The team all files back into the office, finishing up last minute things before the weekend can officially begin. 

You settle into your desk, which is next to Prentiss. You put up some things, like your degree and a photo of your family. You neatly organize your end of the paperwork, along with some books on profiling that you'll have to reference. 

Prentiss rolls over next to you, looking at your desk, asking, "did you ever talk to that guy again?"

"Who?" You ask, trying to remember, then you go, "oh, Peter! Yes, he called me yesterday."

"What did he say?" She asks. You had filled her in on how you convinced him to go back to his wife, so she's curious about the outcome. 

"He said it went well and that him and his wife are going to try again," you answer her with a smile, "and that he wants to take me out to dinner if he's ever in Virginia, or the next time I'm in San Francisco." 

"Sweet guy," Prentiss lets out a sigh, "why are they always taken? That, or emotionally unavailable."

Prentiss glances over at Morgan, Reid, Rossi and Hotch and you chuckle. You follow her eyes and see that Hotch is on the phone. 

You wonder what he could be talking about… 

"Yes sir," Garcia says over the phone, "I looked into the photo and it's from a crime scene a few months back. A robbery gone wrong, mid-day, NYC. An undercover FBI agent was killed, along with the perpetrator." 

"Any other records of the crime?" Hotch asks. 

"It was a one and done kind of deal," Garcia tells him. "The man had no ties to any criminal organizations. Family was interviewed, said that their father had headed out that morning with an assurance of 'fast cash' to pay their debts. To think, he didn't come home alive."

"He probably didn't mean to kill, saw the FBI agent with a gun, bam, shoot, dead," Hotch lets out a sigh, "what other information do you have, on the FBI agent?" 

"Good record, great at undercover work, everyone had nice things to say about that guy," Garcia reads out his report, "such a random event took away a coveted agent. The perp didn't even know the life he took that day." 

"What did he try to steal?" 

"I don't know," Garcia checks the record, "it wasn't listed. It says that there was an FBI drop scheduled that day, a personal item. They registered it as a family heirloom. Must have been that." 

"Thanks, Garcia, have a good weekend," he tells her before hanging up. 

Hotch tries to piece together what had happened to you all those months ago. He had read the report before but he wanted to understand what really happened. 

You drop off a family heirloom to the undercover agent. Why? That wouldn't be considered an FBI drop and yet, it was in the system as such. You then left the FBI afterwards. 

You couldn't have known he'd be killed, so why blame yourself? 

There was more to the case that no one had written down. More to it that only you know. 

A curiosity formed in Hotch, one that only you can solve. 

"Are you ready?" Hotch comes by your desk after gathering his things and collecting his thoughts. 

"All done," you gesture to your finished desk, "let me just pack up."

"I'll meet you at the car," he says before he makes his exit. 

"Hey," Prentiss turns to you again once he's far enough away, "if Hotch ever gives you shit, I got an extra bedroom you can rent too." 

"That's sweet of you," you grin, "I might take you up on that, but maybe after I'm done making his life hell." 

She laughs at your joke and waves goodbye to you as you grab your things and go, not wanting to keep Hotch waiting.

If only she realized you weren't joking. 

The drive back to his house is quiet again and you doze off most of the ride, coming to when you hear the car shut off. 

Hotch grabs your things for you and you walk into the house behind him, shutting and locking the door for him. He carries your things to your room, setting them by the door.

"Thanks," you tell him before stretching your limbs, "what a weird feeling this is." 

"What?" He asks, interested in your word choice. 

"The emptiness after a case is over," you elaborate, letting out a sigh. 

You decide not to go straight to bed. Instead, you go and pour yourself a glass of water, sitting down in the living room. 

You haven't explored much of the house yet. Everything was still so unfamiliar. You haven't even asked about rent. 

"I heard you don't drink," he comments as he pours himself a glass of whiskey over ice. 

"I rarely drink _out_ ," you explain yourself. 

"Would you like a glass then?" He gestures to his glass and you nod, taking his offer. 

Hotch pours you a glass like his and takes a seat next to you, though keeping some distance. He turns on the TV and you both sit in silence, sipping whiskey, watching the news. 

It's boring, but in a strangely content kind of way. 

The alcohol makes you feel warm and drowsy. You try to maintain the control in your mind but sometimes, even you slip up, and you say, "this is nice."

"Hmm?" He turns to you, looking at the light blush on your cheeks. 

"Us," you tell him, "what we have."

"How so?" He asks. 

"As much as you profiled me the first day, you haven't asked much about me since then," you explain, "you aren't…trying to get close. You keep a distance. Sometimes it feels cold and harsh, but other times, it feels like just what I need." 

"I could say the same about you," Hotch responds. 

You take another small sip of your whiskey, nodding at his statement. It's true. You may poke fun at Hotch here and there, but you haven't brought up his personal life in a long time. You know not to get close and he reciprocates. 

A healthy balance, for your kind of relationship. 

What you feel for him is purely physical. No strings attached. 

You use him and he uses you. 

Simple, elegant, like a glass of whiskey over smooth cubes of ices. 

If only ice didn't melt… 

You don't know when it happened, but you feel Hotch's lips on yours. His tongue tastes like whiskey, but his lips are like ice. They feel good against your warm skin, having heated up from the alcohol. 

You let him kiss down your neck, breathing out a gentle sigh at the feeling. He rests at your nape for just a moment before returning to your lips. 

The way he is kissing you, it's slow, melodic. He holds you in his arms as his lips gently lay on top of yours. He kisses you with a quiet passion and you return it, closing your eyes and sinking in.

This time, everything goes in slow motion. 

Hotch takes his time kissing you, caressing you, and you do the same. 

You slowly pull off his tie and unbutton his shirt. He kisses down your chest with each button he opens of your blouse, until he's at your waistline, just kissing your skin. Your hands explore his back and chest, feeling the rise and fall of his steady breathing. 

He helps you take off your pants and you pull off his too. Then, he kisses you again when you're both completely naked, bringing you close to him. It felt like you could kiss him forever. You melt at the feeling of his lips against yours. 

Then, you feel him press against your core and you take a deep breath as he slides in slowly. Somehow, this feels so much more substantial than all the other times. The slowness makes you pay full attention to his entire length sliding inside of you. You let out a moan when his hips fully meet yours.

Hotch kisses you again, holding you against him as he's inside of you. You feel drunk, but not on the whiskey. 

Just drunk off the feeling of him. 

He begins to move inside of you and the house fills with quiet bouts of heavy breathing. 

"It feels so good," you breathe out, before pulling him down to kiss you again. 

This raw kind of intimacy goes on for what feels like forever. You never wanted it to end. 

Hotch moves one of his hands to your clit, rubbing you at a gentle pace as he thrusts inside of you. You arch your back against him, feeling the stimulation building. You love the way he touches you. 

The gentleness Hotch is showing you was a different kind of passion. It hits a different part of you. 

You craved it all the same. 

"I'm going to cum," he tells you softly into your ear.

"Please," you nod, "I am too."

Hotch wraps his arm around you then leans down to kiss you as he thrusts into you deeply, rubbing your clit until you climax with him. 

The feeling of his warm cum filling you up is different. It's unexplainable, the strange comfort of being filled. Especially with the way he is holding you, kissing you, looking at you. 

You both kiss far longer than usual with Hotch still inside of you. Your hands feeling greedy, caressing his face, pulling him towards your lips. 

You find the willpower to pull away from him and say, "wow."

He nods in agreement, before pulling out, his cum spilling out of you as he does. You let out that whimper you always hold in and Hotch presses another kiss against your lips before saying, "don't be sad. I'll be inside of you again soon." 

"You better," you reply with a smirk. 

"Do you need help getting up?" Hotch offers to carry you and you nod, accepting. He lifts you up into his arms and takes you back to your bedroom, setting you down on the bed. 

"Hey, Hotch," you grab a hold of him with your words before he can leave, "about earlier today…"

"It was a good call," Hotch admits to you, "reckless, but you saved two lives. Just try to tell me before you do anything like that again. I can't have someone from my team risking their lives like that. You might not be so lucky next time."

"I meant, I wanted to thank you, for trusting me," you look into his eyes, "even though I'm the one who got him killed, I wasn't the one who pulled the trigger." 

Hotch realizes that you're talking about the photo and he can't help but ask, "will you ever tell me what really happened?" 

You blink, thinking. 

How should you answer that? 

Were you ready to tell someone about the darkest day of your life? 

"I'm a bit too tired today," you answer, with a yawn to cover up the small tears welling up in your eyes. 

"I understand," Hotch replies. "I don't want to overstep."

"You aren't, but tread carefully," you warn him, "don't get invested. It's not worth it. Trust me." 

_I'm not worth it_ , you want to say, but you decide to keep that to yourself. 

Hotch nods then turns away, but before he does, he tells you, "goodnight." 

"Goodnight," you tell him back, watching as he leaves you, shutting the door behind him. 

When you feel like he's far enough away, your mind fills with how gently he just held you and you can barely fight back the tears. You curl up, reminiscing. 

Wanting to hope that maybe you'll be held like that again. 

Wishing such a thought never crossed your mind…


	5. Mirror Mirror

You wake up to your phone buzzing on your bed stand. You groan, tapping around, trying to grab it without opening your eyes. That's when you realized you got a string of texts so you're forced to open your eyes to read them. 

They're from Prentiss. She's inviting you out for brunch. You chuckle, rubbing your eyes, before dialing her number.

"Talk to me," Prentiss says as her greeting. 

"It's 9am, don't you sleep in?" You ask and she laughs. 

"Who sleeps!" She answers, making you laugh. "So, are you up for it or what?" 

"Yeah," you reply, yawning, "just give me an hour at least." 

"I'll give you two, see you at 11," Prentiss tells you happily. "I'll pick you up, just don't make me say hi to Hotch."

"I got it," you giggle, "see you then."

You flip your phone off then lay back in bed, debating whether or not if you wanna sleep in more or get up. 

You decide to just get up, shower and get ready. Thankfully, it's the weekend, so you get to wear casual clothes. You decide you've missed wearing a skirt so you throw on a nice one with one of your favorite shirts. It's warm today so you opt not to bring a jacket. 

You wonder if Hotch made coffee. You'd love a cup while you waited for Prentiss to get here. 

Before heading downstairs, you brush your hair out, looking at yourself in the mirror. Everyday, you look more and more like yourself again. 

What a strange thought. 

The color has returned to your cheeks. Those dark circles around your eyes are from working a case, not long nights of trailing a thief. You dress like you always have, but you radiate differently today. 

It makes you smile.

So, you leave your room with a smile on your face, but it doesn't last long… 

"Haley," you hear Hotch say, making you freeze in place, "why are you here?" 

"I need you to watch Jack," a female voice, presumably Haley, _his ex-wife_ , replies, "you weren't answering your phone last night. I assumed you fell asleep so I just came over."

You think back to last night. 

You and Hotch. On the couch. Watching the news. Doing much more than just that.

Hotch's phone did ring, but he didn't leave to get it. He was occupied, but why didn't he call back later?

"You need to tell me before you come over uninvited," Hotch tells her, in a stern voice. 

"Uninvited? This was my house once too!" She shouts. 

You want to walk back upstairs but you look at your phone. It's almost 11am. Prentiss will come early. You need to find a way to get out of the house because you doubt Hotch has explained to Haley that you're staying here.

Either that, or you need to come up with an excuse _fast_. 

"I know, Haley, but you need to-"

Suddenly, your phone goes off, and you curse yourself for not having put it on silent. You turned the ringer on because you didn't want to miss when Prentiss got here to pick you up. You immediately check the message, praying they didn't hear you.

_I'm here, but take your time! - Em_

"Fuck," you say under your breath.

"Who's there?" Haley's voice echoes up the stairs and you can hear her turn back to Hotch, "is there someone over right now? Is that why you wouldn't pick up the phone? Are you-"

"Sorry," you enter the room as quickly as you can, trying to save Hotch's ass, your eyes meeting Haley's, "I don't mean to barge in like this all of a sudden." 

"Who's she?" Haley glares at Hotch and he's at a loss, not knowing what to say. 

"I'm Y/N," you introduce yourself, putting your hand out to shake hers, "I'm the newest member of the B.A.U." 

She doesn't shake it, her eyes still on Hotch for an explanation. 

"I offered to let her stay here while she looks for appropriate housing," Hotch explains. "Look, Haley, there's nothing going on-"

"Oh yeah?" Haley turns back to you, her eyes like daggers, "as if I believe that."

"Trust me," you tell her, "I don't like him, like that. If you… _understand_." 

She squints at you, trying to decipher what you're saying.

"Hotch, I'm going out with Emily," you decide to flip the conversation this way, in hopes he will catch your drift, "we're getting brunch together." 

Hotch nods, understanding your play, saying back, "just be safe. People are still…unwelcoming, around these parts." 

Haley stares back at Hotch, then towards you again, before uttering the words, "oh my god."

"Yeah," you nod, seeing her eyes finally understand. You, then, decide to poke a little fun, saying in a sugary sweet voice, "I told you, I have no eyes for Hotch. But, if you're available, Haley, I'd love to-"

"Please go before I regret letting you stay here," Hotch points towards the door as you catch Haley with a quick blush on her face. 

"Hope to see you again soon," you give her a quick wink, before heading towards the door. 

You loiter for just a moment, listening to the rest of the conversation.

"Sorry, Aaron, I-I should've realized-"

"It's alright," Hotch tells her in a calm, kind voice. "I'm sorry for not picking up the phone. We got in late yesterday so I was just exhausted, I didn't notice any missed calls until I woke up." 

Listening to Hotch lie through his teeth is very interesting. You wish you could see his body language. 

"I just need you to watch Jack for a few hours today," Haley asks, "I don't want to lug him around all day, it just wouldn't be fair to him."

"I got it," he says, "I can watch him." 

"Thank you," she tells him and that's when you leave. 

You and Prentiss have a wonderful brunch and you ask her if she wants to hang out longer, to which she happily agrees. She spends the day showing you around, helping you get a lay of the land. 

You both talk, a lot, and it's nice to have a friend. It's been so long since you've had a friend to chat with… 

You end up going to a bar with her and you decide to drink a little, just a small vodka soda, that you're nursing the whole time. 

"So," she leans up towards you, "when was the last time you saw someone?"

"What do you mean?" You ask.

"I mean, dated," she chuckles at your need for clarification. "I saw the way you flirted with Peter. You're good."

You chuckle back, taking a sip of your drink, before saying, "am I?" 

You think for a moment, whether or not you should open up. The alcohol makes the decision a bit easier for you.

"I had a few serious relationships in college but no, I haven't dated recently," you reply. 

"Why's that?" She seems genuinely curious. 

"I joined the FBI right out of college," you explain, sipping your drink here and there as you speak, "I got assigned to many different divisions before my ghost unit. I just…didn't have the time, I guess. Every relationship just felt wrong. Everyone wanted something from me that I couldn't give them, you know?" 

"I get that," Prentiss takes a swig of her beer, "it's tough, the work-life balance. Especially in this job. Just look at Rossi and Hotch."

"Right," you say, taking another sip.

"I saw her car parked outside the house when I got there," Prentiss turns to you, "that must've been awkward to explain."

You giggle, saying, "I hinted to her that you and I are dating."

"Shut up!" Prentiss lets out a laugh, "did it work?"

"Like a charm," you wink and she claps her hands together, amused at the whole thing. 

You both drink in silence for a bit, scanning the bar for anyone interesting. No one catches your eye or Prentiss's. 

"Why are you staying with Hotch, anyways?" Prentiss breaks the silence a few moments later.

That's a good question, honestly. You...don't really know why you let Hotch convince you to stay with him. He didn't even really need to convince you. You just ended up staying. 

You had enough money to get a space of your own, but there's a strange comfort in being close to Hotch. That, and the hot sex. 

You answer, coming up with something viable to say, "I think he's lonely. He offered me a room and I felt obligated to say yes. He is the boss after all. Plus, the free carpool is a perk." 

"He does seem lonely," she nods as she says that, "to be honest, he never really seems happy."

"Do you think it's the job?" You ask her, knowing she has a good affinity for profiling. 

She shakes her head, replying, "I think it's the way he consumes himself with the job. It makes him good at it, but at what cost?" 

"I ask myself that sometimes," you tell her.

"Me too," she responds. "Are you doing okay? After what happened?"

"Yeah, I'm doing okay," you reply honestly, "thanks for asking." 

"May I ask, was he really your husband?" She lets her curiosity take over, concerning the photograph. 

You shake your head, explaining, "I had to make sure the story matched hers, that was the only way she'd trust me enough to let her guard down. I barely knew the guy. I just delivered what he needed."

"Do you think what you did before was more difficult than what you're doing now?" She inquires. 

You take in a deep breath, thinking about that, before replying, "it's different. When you perform a drop, normally you're alone, so that if it goes wrong, they only have to cover up one body. For a while, I had gotten used to being alone, relying on myself. Now, I have a team and we solve cases together. It's nice, not being alone anymore, but I feel like…I don't want to let anyone down."

"We're a team," Prentiss pats you on the back, "you got my back and I got yours now. Everything we do, we do together. If you ever need help, you can always ask."

"You're sweet," you tell her, "maybe we should date."

Prentiss chuckles and you both end up talking about lighter things until you both sober up. You hail a cab and wave goodbye to Prentiss, who lives in walking distance from the bar. 

When you arrive back, it's already pretty late. You hadn't even realized you've been out all day. You're beat, yawning the moment you step inside. 

Then, you hear it.

A light snore. 

You let out a brief chuckle before walking over to the source of the sound. You then see Hotch, laying back on the couch, looking absolutely exhausted. It must be tough taking care of a little kid all day. He looked content, though. He must've missed him. 

You must've made too much noise because Hotch slowly starts to wake up, asking, "what time is it?"

"9pm," you tell him, "long day?" 

He rubs his eyes, answering, "I almost forgot what looking after a kid really meant." 

You giggle at his answer, saying, "did you eat dinner yet?"

He shakes his head, "Haley came to pick Jack up around 6 and I've been asleep since they left."

"What do you want then?" You walk over to him, your phone in hand, "I can get something delivered for us?" 

"Anything's fine," he replies. You look him up and down and he goes, "what?"

"Are you a cheese pizza kind of guy?" You raise your eyebrow. 

"Oh, come on," he groans, "do you really think I'm _that_ boring?"

"Yeah, I do," you respond bluntly.

"Come here," he gestures for you to come closer. You listen, though it was probably against your best judgment. 

Hotch suddenly pulls you onto his lap, making you sit. You feel his hands begin to roam and you shake your head, saying, "I haven't ordered dinner yet."

"I know," he says, his hands roaming up your thighs, under your skirt. 

He leans forward, kissing your neck. You bite your lip, not wanting to make too much noise just yet. You can't let him think you enjoy it that much… 

"Order whatever you want, a pizza sounds nice," he tells you, his fingers resting on your inner thighs. His thumbs roll circles on your skin and your breaths become heavy, feeling yourself get wetter at the teasing. 

You nod, dialing a local pizza shop. When the line goes through, you feel Hotch move his hand against your underwear, caressing your core through it. You shake and it's apparent in your voice as you go, "h-hi, can I order a pizza?" 

"Sure, what would you like?"

"I-" you immediately bite your lip to hold back releasing anything as Hotch slips a finger inside of you, "um, give me a s-second."

You put the call on mute and Hotch goes, "what's the problem?"

"You're a piece of shit, you know that?" You glare at him but then he slips another finger into you and you grip the couch with your free hand, letting out a moan involuntarily. 

"Order your pizza," he urges you to continue, his fingers thrusting in you at a steady pace, curling them as he goes. "Unless you want me to stop..." 

You take a few deep breaths before taking the call off mute, saying as quickly as you can, "yes, I'd like to order a large vegetarian special-"

You hold your breath as Hotch swipes his thumb over your clit, making it difficult to hold in your moans. 

"Would you like any sides with that?" The pizza place asks.

"Do you want any sides with that?" Hotch repeats in a low, seductive tone.

"N-No," you swallow back any noise your body threatens to make before spitting out Hotch's address. 

"It'll be delivered in 30-45 minutes, thank you for ordering!"

Immediately, you flip your phone off and toss it aside, gripping the couch with both hands now, riding out the orgasm you've been holding back on. Hotch looks at you, fully entertained, as he slips his hand away from you. 

"You're really something else," you breathe out, leaning forward to rest your head on his shoulder, slowly coming down from your orgasmic high.

"I know," he says into your ear. "You want me to keep going?"

"Is that even a question?" You feel how hard he is against you. 

Hotch unzips his pants and pushes his length at your entrance. You take a deep breath and let him slip right into you, slowly, feeling every inch. 

You clutch the back of the couch, your head still in his shoulder, your hips moving up and down. His hands roam your back as you ride him, the friction rubbing against your clit as well. 

You can't count the amount of times you came before he did, unraveling inside of you once again. You sit there, breathing heavy against him, before the doorbell rings. 

"You should get it," he smirks at you. 

"You'd like that, wouldn't you?" You glare at him. 

"If you get the door, I'll pay for it," Hotch points to his wallet on the coffee table. 

You roll your eyes at him then pull yourself off him, biting your lip at the emptiness. That, and the warm cum that threatens to drip down your leg. 

You hastily snatch his wallet and run to the door, fixing your hair and clothes in the mirror, hoping you don't look too obviously fucked. 

You swing the door open and ask, "how much will it be?" 

"Oh, uh," a female voice answers and you blink, suddenly seeing Haley standing before you.

 _Fuck_. 

"Haley!" You say almost too loud, hoping it didn't sound unnatural. "I'm so sorry, I ordered a pizza so I just thought-um, what brings you over this late?"

You hear Hotch in the background, practically scrambling to look normal. Then, when he's decent, he appears in the hallway and Haley calls out to him, "Jack said he accidentally left one of his toys that he sleeps with, so I had to come get it. Do you know where it might be?" 

"Yes!" Hotch says, walking over to the kitchen, "it's here, I'll bring it over." 

"How was your brunch?" Haley tries to initiate small talk in the meantime. 

If only you didn't have to clench every muscle in your body right now, you might have been up for small talk. 

"It was nice," you respond with a provocative smile, "you should join me next time." 

Haley blushes at your words and the small talk ceases there, _thankfully._

You let out a quiet, undetectable, breath of relief when Hotch walks by with the toy in hand. Haley takes it and says, "thank you, sorry again for popping by unannounced. I'll…get better at calling ahead."

"It's no problem," Hotch assures her, "just let Jack know I say goodnight."

"Of course," she says, before turning to you, "enjoy your pizza when it gets here."

"I will, thanks," you say, attempting to keep a straight face. 

The moment Haley is out of sight, you shut the door and let out a loud groan. 

"Fucking hell," you say with a tired breath, "that was not worth a free pizza." 

Hotch puts his hand over his mouth, trying to cover up a laugh, but you hear it and turn towards him, glaring at him.

"I'll get you back for this," you point at him, "mark my words." 

"I believe you," he says back. 

You hand him back his wallet and tell him, "you get the pizza. I'm going to wash up before someone from the B.A.U decides to show up and analyze the dripping cum on my thigh." 

You make your exit, hearing Hotch's subtle laughter in the background. You decide you won't be taking any chances and you wear a pajama set that you had bought today after you take a nice, long shower. 

You've learned your lesson. Just use the back door from now on… 

When you come back downstairs, Hotch has plates ready and the pizza box in front of him. You both take your slices and eat them on the couch, watching the news again. The news is the same old shit, as it almost always is. 

The pizza is good though, for what it's worth. 

"Do you have any plans for tomorrow?" Hotch asks you. 

It was strange, hearing such a casual question from him. 

"Finally get some sleep," you joke, before biting into your pizza and muttering, "why?"

"I feel bad about earlier," he admits, "so let me buy you some groceries and other essentials you might need while you're staying here.

"Oh," you scratch your head, realizing you literally own nothing in this house. "I guess that would be nice." 

Hotch nods, finishing his slice of pizza, getting up to say, "we'll go when you wake up. Goodnight." 

"Goodnight," you say back, watching as he goes to wash his plate so you call out, "I got it, I'll wash yours when I wash mine!"

Hotch listens, leaving his plate for you. 

How domestic this all was, in its own weird way. You wash the dishes after you have another slice of pizza. You scribble down on a notepad what things you want to buy tomorrow. You go to bed, dreaming of ways to get back at Hotch. 

You better not get used to this… 

Somehow, you wake up a little before noon, the most you've slept in recently. Your dreams were quiet, but Maria's frantic face fills your mind as you wake up, sweating. 

You let out a sigh, seeing the desperation in her eyes. There was an evil in them, but one formed from the darkness that built around her heart. There was a hope in them as well, the eyes she stared into your soul when you told her you'd help her complete her vengeful quest. 

A hope that it would end there, her sorrow. 

If only she knew that the sorrow she felt would never end, not like that… 

What does it take to break a person? 

You hope the answer never comes to you. 

With a deep sigh, you shake the memories from your mind, hoping that the next case J.J picks doesn't drag on as long as this one had. 

You quickly shower and change into casual clothes, wearing jeans and a hoodie. You don't feel like dressing decent for the grocery store. 

Then, you head back downstairs, to see Hotch working at his desk. He looks up when he hears footsteps, saying, "you're finally awake." 

"Yeah," you yawn, "not really by choice." 

"We can grab lunch at the mall," Hotch gets up from his desk. You notice he's wearing a polo and athletic pants. He looked like he was going out golfing. You turn away from him to hide your chuckle. 

The drive to the mall is smooth. It's warm outside again, making you a little sleepy. Hotch offers to buy you a coffee at a drive thru and you accept. 

You sip your coffee as you and Hotch walk through the mall to a store together. He pushes around a shopping cart while you put things you need in it and he adds whatever additional things he needs to replenish around the house. 

Though, Hotch tries to convince you not to buy soap, "we're only going to be home during the weekends, if anything." 

"How long do you think that stuff will last?" You raise your eyebrow, putting your hands on your hips. "We might as well get some…" 

"It's a waste," Hotch tells you. "Trust me."

You and Hotch bicker back and forth a while, until someone chimes in and says, "let the lady buy what she wants." 

It's an older woman, who had been eavesdropping on your conversation from the next aisle over. 

"Finally, someone who understands!" You thank the woman, teasing Hotch in the mix. 

Hotch lets out a sigh and goes, defeated, "fine, just get whatever."

You flash him a cheeky smile and add some shampoo, conditioner and body soap that you know will smell extra sweet, telling him, "you should try these sometime."

"As if I want to smell like a flower," Hotch scoffs. 

"Better than what you smell like normally," you poke fun at him, smiling. 

"You two are quite the cute couple," the woman tells you, startling you and Hotch. You both turn to her, confused expressions on your faces. 

This is why only some people are meant to be profilers…if only she looked more closely, she'd see that you and Hotch are nothing like an ordinary couple. 

Despite all the domesticity today… 

She leaves you two with that and you shake your head, saying, "if only she knew how insufferable you are." 

"I'm the insufferable one?" Hotch stares daggers at you and you match his expression, not breaking. 

"You know the answer to that question," you say, before pushing the cart towards checkout. 

"Wait," Hotch stops you from getting in line, "aren't you forgetting something?"

You turn to him, puzzled by his question, "what do you mean?"

"Don't you need…feminine products?" He tries to word it as non-directly as he can. 

"Oh!" You look at your cart then back at him. 

You blink, reading his expression, realizing… 

"I thought you knew…" your words drift off. 

Hotch shakes his head, not getting what you're referring to.

You take a deep breath, collecting yourself, before you confess, "I, uh, rarely have a period, I'm infertile. Sorry, I never mentioned it…" 

"I'm sorry," he responds, realizing, "I just thought this whole time, you were on birth control-"

"It's okay," you tell him sincerely, "there's no way I could have kids anyways. Too busy, y'know? Especially with this job, so don't worry too much about it. I've known for a long time and I've come to terms with it."

"Right," Hotch nods, seeing how strong you were. 

Deep down, he knew there was a lot going on inside of you. He just never thought…about how much it affected you. 

Or, how much the last case seemed so deeply personal to you… 

You and Maria, two ends of a different spectrum. She fully denied her infertility, blaming the men for her troubles. You fully accepted your situation, embracing it, as much as you could. 

However, Hotch decides not to mention the slight bleakness that washes over your eyes when you talked about not being able to have kids. 

You held yourself well, but it took time to get you where you are, all of which is telling him…what adversities have you gone through? 

And, _how could he help?_

"You're paying for lunch too, yeah?" You try to lighten the conversation back up, taking him away from his thoughts. 

"I don't think I have much of a choice," Hotch says with a smirk. 

You smile back, though even you know it's not completely genuine. Hotch quickly makes the purchases and you both eat at the food court in the mall. 

You _loved_ mall food, as stupid as that sounds. 

There's just something about being able to buy random combinations of food without people judging you that was just an enjoyable experience. 

Hotch orders a sandwich and you nearly lose it, saying, "we're in a mall!"

"Yeah, and?" 

"You can make a sandwich at home," you tell him. 

"Why not let someone else make it for me?" He says before taking a bite. 

You roll your eyes at him, focusing on your own food now. 

Though, it doesn't last long, as a woman's scream rips through the food court.

You and Hotch look at each other before looking for the source of the voice. 

"Help me!" She screams, running through the food court, "he's trying to hurt me!"

"Come back here!" The man chasing her shouts, slowly closing in on her.

They're both coming your way.

You gesture for Hotch to get him and you both get up, preparing yourselves to catch the perp. 

Right as they come close enough, Hotch grabs the man and holds him back, stopping him from chasing the woman. The man starts screaming incoherent things that can't be heard in the commotion of the mall as you stop the woman a few meters away, putting your hands on her arms to hold her in place as you speak. She seems surprised that you stopped her. 

"Are you alright, ma'am?" You look at her with concerned eyes, though it just masks your profiling. 

Middle-aged, fairly attractive woman. Nice purse, even though it's a fake. 

_Weirdly calm eyes_. 

"Y-yeah, I guess," she looks behind her at the man on the ground, "but I just want to get out of here."

"I understand, just tell me what happened," you ask her in a cool, collected voice, "so I can notify the police for you."

"Oh, of course," she nods, thanking you for helping her, "he was trying to take my purse and I just had to run."

You glance back at the man she was running from. He was wearing a suit, dress shoes, though he looked terribly uncomfortable in them. Must be a big day for him… 

You nod at her, showing compassion, before saying, "I wonder why he wanted your purse."

"I don't know!" She turns back, seeing Hotch talking to the man, frantically saying, "I need to go, now. Thank you again-"

You cut her off, telling her with a smile on your face as nonchalantly as you can, "I wonder if he wanted your purse because you had his wallet in it."

"H-huh?" The woman stares at you, going, "what are you talking about!"

You pull out the wallet from your pocket, saying, "it just _fell out_ when I caught you…" 

Suddenly, the woman sees that her ruse is up and shoves you aside, making you crash against a nearby table, and sprints away from you, out of the mall.

"Y/N!" Hotch shouts, running back towards you. 

_Damn, that bitch can push…_

Your body aches from hitting the table, but at least you didn't hit your head. Hotch helps you up and asks, "are you okay?"

"Yeah, I'm fine, I got his wallet back," you say, watching as the man comes up to you. 

You hand him back his wallet and he goes, "thank you so much. I just finished at the ATM and she snatched my wallet right after I withdrew some money…I almost didn't notice in time and just chased after her. I'm so sorry she shoved you, I should've just called security…"

"It's okay," you tell him, "I'll be fine. Did she manage to take your money?"

He looks in his wallet and lets out a defeated sigh, "yeah…"

"How much?" 

"$600," he shakes his head, "I finally had enough to… _damn_."

You watch as Hotch reaches for his own wallet, presumably to give the man whatever cash he had left, but you stop him. You then pull out another wallet from your pocket, opening it, pulling out $600, handing it to the man, "I guess you should count yourself lucky that I stole her wallet."

"Oh my god, thank you!" The man takes the money and pulls you in for a hug. 

You pat him on the back and tell him, "just don't put your wallet in your back pocket anymore, okay?" 

"I promise," he says, crossing his heart. 

You smile at him and go, "I'll hold you to that. Now, you better get that ring." 

"How did you…" The man looks at you, astonished by your words. 

You reach forward, pulling on the paper that was sticking out of his wallet, revealing an advertisement for an engagement ring. 

"She'll love it," you assure him, "good luck."

"Thank you," he nods appreciatively before waving goodbye.

You let out a sigh, tired, then turn to Hotch, "we should probably get this wallet to security."

"I'll do it, you sit and rest, maybe finish the food?" Hotch says, gesturing over to your now cold food. 

"Alright, thanks," you hand him the wallet. 

You sit back down, stretching your back out, still aching from being shoved. You decide to pick at whatever food you can stomach, though most of it is mushy so you end up just cleaning up. One of the food stalls offers you a free meal, after seeing you help the man, and you agree to just a soda.

Hotch comes back as you're sitting at the table, sipping on the drink. 

"Mall security is going to call the woman and tell her that someone found her wallet," Hotch tells you, "they'll have police waiting for her when she comes." 

"Good work," you chuckle. "Let's go home." 

On the ride home, Hotch asks you, "so, how did you know she stole his wallet?" 

"Emily and I were having drinks yesterday and these two guys were talking about how he lost his wallet at the mall," you recall the conversation you overheard, "and that he 'must've dropped it' when he was talking to a beautiful woman." 

"Interesting," he comments, "the guy today already had a significant other, so she tried to con the wrong man. Bad profiling."

"Exactly," you groan, "the worst kind of pickpockets. The ones with a gimmick." 

"There are good pickpockets?" Hotch teases. 

You pull out his wallet from your pocket and say, " _of course_." 

Hotch pats his pocket, stunned, "how do you do that!"

"Simple, I just wait until your eyes are on mine, I know I'm pretty distracting," you say with a wink. 

"Very funny," he rolls his eyes, taking the wallet back from you. 

You laugh and enjoy the rest of the ride home, listening to the news and peering out the window. 

It's sunset. 

The sun colors the sky beautifully. You turn to Hotch, smiling, and he returns the smile lightly, curving the corner of his mouth, his eyes still straight ahead. You face forward, looking ahead at the freeway of moving cars, blanketed by the beautiful rays of the Virginia sunset. 

Then, Hotch slams his brakes and you suddenly grab a hold of the side of the car, bracing yourself for impact. Hotch narrowly misses hitting the car directly ahead, watching as it barrels off to the side, its tires skidding across the highway. 

You hold your breath as you watch the row of cars in front of you blow up into flames out of nowhere, the noise of the explosion finally blasting in your ears. All the cars behind you roar in a cacophony of brakes, pausing as the fire burns bright before your eyes. 

Your heart is racing and you feel Hotch's hand instinctively grab yours. You hold it, squeezing it reassuringly, letting him know you're still here. His heart must be pounding just the same. 

"Are you okay?" He turns to you, making sure you're still intact.

"I-I'm fine," you say back, "but…I don't think they are…" 

Your eyes go back to the accident and you just can't help but wonder… 

How did this all happen? 

And, how lucky are you and Hotch not to be a part of the wreckage… 


	6. Freezer Burn

"What is going on?" You ask, staring ahead at the wreckage. 

"I don't know," Hotch admits honestly, "but it can't be good." 

Hotch swallows for a moment, scanning the scene, before letting go of your hand to exit the car. You follow suit, knowing that he'll need back up. Your eyes glance everywhere, looking for sights of survivors. 

There are none…

Everything has been caught up in the fiery inferno… 

Police sirens, fire trucks, helicopters, the noise of everything begins to fill the scene.

"Hotch," you grab a hold of him, to stop him from looking anymore, "we need to go."

Hotch nods, but his eyes locked on the scene. Then, he dials J.J on his phone, "there's been an explosion on the highway. I need the whole team at the office right now. _It isn't an accident_."

"I'll let the others know, I'm on my way," J.J says before hanging up. 

You and Hotch watch firefighters rinse the wreckage, trying to see if there's anyone still alive. Police scramble asking witnesses what they saw. Helicopters are reporting the explosion live on air. 

As the smoke clears, you can see that, beneath the flames, there are several vehicles. 

One gasoline truck. Five cars, all various models. 

And… _a school bus._

"It's Sunday," you say, staring at the bus, "why is there a school bus out on a Sunday?"

"That's what we need to find out," Hotch answers, picking up his phone again, dialing Garcia. 

"I saw the news," Garcia says on the phone, "I'm heading over to the office now."

"I need a list of all the schools in the nearby district and then I need you to see if any of them have rented a bus for the weekend," Hotch tells her and you can hear her gasp on the line.

"Please don't tell me…" Her voice cracks.

"We need to see who was on that bus," Hotch says in that flat, stoic voice of his. He needs to hold his composure. He can't slip right now. 

"I'm on it, give me more on the bus if you have it, plates, anything." 

"I'll call you once the fire's out," he then hangs up. 

You turn to Hotch and ask, "what do you think is going on?"

He faces you and goes, "I'm afraid of answering that question." 

The team arrives shortly to the office and you get them on the phone, putting it on speaker, but away from the scene so no one can interfere. You and Hotch explain what has happened to the best of your abilities, though it all happened so quickly. 

"Are you thinking what I'm thinking?" Rossi asks Hotch directly. 

"It's highly likely this may be a terrorist attack," Hotch confirms Rossi's suspicions, and your own. 

"Or the start of one," you state, "it could all be a test. How fast did first responders get here for an explosion on a major highway? They could be gauging response times."

"That would mean that they have a target in mind," Morgan thinks aloud, "is anyone important going to be driving here sometime soon?"

"The secretary of state is speaking at our headquarters in two days," Reid announces. "They'd have to drive right through that very highway."

"We should warn them," Prentiss says, "if this is a possible terrorist attack."

"We can't," Rossi replies sternly, "the moment we do, we lose our advantage. They wanted to make this look like an accident."

"Blowing up a school bus, though?" Prentiss exclaims, "people are going to get suspicious. The conspiracy theories will be insane!"

"I'll make sure the media keeps it under wraps," J.J assures you all. "At least for as long as I can." 

"Y/L/N and I will stay at the scene, talk with the police and see what information we can find out," Hotch instructs, "we're dealing with a very organized group. It's likely that this wasn't the first explosion, it's just the first major one. Look up recent car accidents on this very highway, see if any stand out. Find those victims, run those plates, see what connects. We'll reconvene once we know more."

Hotch hangs up the phone then and lets out a tired sigh. 

"First, a vengeful serial killer/rapist, now a possible terrorist?" You look up at Hotch, "what have I gotten myself into?"

"Welcome to the B.A.U," Hotch gestures for you to follow him. 

You both spend the next couple of hours trying to dig through the remains. Garcia located the school bus and it was off duty, no children on board. 

Likelihood is, it wasn't even meant to be there. It was being asked to be driven back, since the school ended up not needing the extra bus. 

"What if this is just an accident then?" You ask Hotch, "someone could've just made a bad lane change into that gasoline truck." 

Hotch shakes his head, saying, "the destruction is too…aggressive for it to only be a car accident. Remember the flames. It made sure no one survived. That gasoline truck was a diversion. There's a bomb somewhere in this wreckage, we just need to find it." 

When the roads have cleared enough, Morgan and Rossi join you and Hotch on the scene. 

"Any updates?" Hotch asks about recent car accidents. 

"Reid, J.J and Prentiss are looking more closely, contacting the victims, but we found a few that seem odd," Rossi brings out the files for you both to see. 

They're cases of car collisions that ended the driver's lives, but left the victims untouched. 

"To the untrained eye, these look like tragic car accidents that thankfully didn't result in multiple deaths," Morgan examines. 

"But these are actually purposeful suicides," you peer at the facts more closely. 

"Perhaps a way of proving oneself to the cause," Hotch comments, "while strengthening the depths of their beliefs as a group."

"There is an obvious escalation," Morgan shows the next few accidents, "these ones have victims that had passed on the scene, including the driver. The explosions, as reported by witnesses, were massive and engulfed all the cars involved." 

"Do we have any information about these drivers?" Hotch asks and Morgan shakes his head.

"Their bodies all burnt up at the scene," he answers. 

"What about license plates?"

"Dead end," Rossi responds, "all the plates are from impounded cars, no owners." 

"They're driving stolen cars!" You yell out from the wreckage. 

Hotch, Morgan and Rossi jog over to you and they see you hunched over one of the burning cars, taking photos. 

"This car has been hot wired," you show them the photos you took, "you almost can't tell, but this car was put out first when the fire department got here, so it's salvaged enough." 

"So we now need a list of every stolen car in this state and the surrounding," Hotch puts his hand on his forehead, feeling the sweat dripping off it, "one of those cars will be our bomber."

"We have two days," you state the obvious, "how are we going to track down every stolen vehicle?" 

"You have to figure out how the unsubs stole them in the first place," Hotch answers you, directing Rossi and Morgan. "You both go to the police and cross reference the type of car, make and model, with the ones found in those car accidents to any stolen vehicles. If we can pinpoint whose cars they've stolen before, and where they were stolen, we can figure out whose car they stole next."

"What will you do?" Morgan asks. 

Hotch takes one look at you and goes, "Y/L/N knows where people sell stolen cars. We'll need to pay them a visit." 

"Good luck with that," Rossi says unenthusiastically. 

"You probably should let me take her," Morgan suggests, "they'll smell Fed on you in an instant." 

"He's not wrong, Hotch," you say back to him, "it would be the smarter call." 

"Right, I'll go with Dave then," Hotch throws Morgan his keys, "my car is unmarked, so it should fly undetected if they're jumpy about authority."

"Got it, come on," Morgan gestures to you.

You and Morgan drive for a while and then you tell him to stop all of a sudden, which surprises him, then you get out of the car.

"Where are you going!" Morgan asks you, following you out of the car.

You quickly jog across the street to an average looking car and proceed to break into it, picking the lock. 

"What the hell are you doing?" He whispers as you open the door, and hotwire the car.

"There's no way in hell we're getting in without something to sell," you explain, getting the car to turn on, "follow behind me and don't worry, they won't miss this car at all. They were planning to give it away anyways."

"I won't ask how you know that," Morgan says, going back to Hotch's car. 

You lead Morgan to a warehouse on the river, driving your car straight through the opening. 

"Got a room for one?" You ask, watching as the lights begin to turn on. Morgan parks Hotch's car off to the side then comes in with you, standing behind you. 

"Anything for you, darling," a man's voice echoes from the end of the warehouse. 

The lights fill the warehouse and you see rows and rows of cars. All beautifully painted. 

"How long has it been, Joey?" You run up to him, giving him a quick hug.

"Ah, too long, gorgeous," he squeezes you back as he speaks in a thick New York accent, "just don't tell Terry you're hugging me. He'll start flipping shit."

"How's that wife of his?" You ask. 

"Pregnant, _twins_ ," Joey tells you, "can you believe?"

"Never thought your brother was the kids type," you say, surprised.

"The wife convinced him," he then gestures to Morgan, "I never pictured he'd be your type."

"Oh yeah?" You say with folded arms, "why's that? You don't think I could get a man like him."

"Of course you could, princess," Joey answers, "I just don't think a man like him could handle a woman like you."

"I'm standing right here!" Morgan shouts, making the two of you chuckle. 

"Whatcha need from me?" Joey glances at the car you drove in, "you looking to sell?"

"I'm looking to _trade_ ," you tell him, walking him off to the side of the warehouse, out of earshot of Morgan, "you still keep a record of the cars you pick up?"

"Yeah, who's asking?" Joey squints at Morgan, trying to sniff him out. 

"My buddy got his car stolen a few weeks back," you explain, "so he asked me if I could ask you to see the records, just so he knows if his car's been stripped for parts or if he can keep looking for it." 

"That determined to find out?" He seems rather skeptical.

You let out a sigh, saying, "you know men and their first cars. It's like their baby."

"Alright, I hear ya," Joey agrees, "he can have a look, but no keepsakes, _capiche?_ " 

"You have my word," you give him a light kiss on the cheek, whispering, "when are you going to find yourself a nice man to keep you company?"

Joey shakes you off, answering, "I ain't got time for no man. I got cars to strip, baby."

You giggle and nod, gesturing that he can have the car you brought in. Joey runs to the back, grabbing his records, handing them to you. 

"Take a look, I organized it by date and then model," Joey shows you his sheet and you thank him, bringing it over to Morgan. 

"Can you get this to Garcia?" You ask Morgan.

"I'll need some time to take a video of all the pages," Morgan tells you. 

"I can buy you the time," you pass him the list.

For the next hour, you and Joey catch up. You tell him that you're in Virginia visiting a few friends and he tells you that he moved here because business is better closer to the capital.

"You still running gigs?" Joey asks you. 

"When I feel like it, why? You need something stolen?" You offer. 

He shakes his head, saying, "when are you going to settle down? Didn't you get left some sweet inheritance?"

You shrug, "money ain't everything, especially dead people's dough."

"Says the person with money," Joey notes with a laugh. 

"You need money?" You look at him, trying to pick at his words.

"No, no, I just think I'd like to see you have a life," he tells you honestly. "Get out of the underbelly, Y/N. You never needed us. You can live a nice life, away from all this."

"Maybe," you say with a tired grin, "I'll think about it."

"I'm working on this guy's car right now, he's in real estate, got a nice place, single-"

"Don't go setting me up now!" You chuckle. 

"I'm just saying, he seems like a nice guy," Joey pats your hand, "consider it." 

"Only if you consider it yourself," you give him a wink.

Morgan comes over and gives Joey the sheet back, saying, "thanks. My baby…she's gone, but at least that gives me an excuse to buy a new ride." 

"If you ever need it detailed," Joey hands Morgan his card, "a friend of Y/N's is a friend of mine." 

"See you around, give Terry a hard time for me," you smirk, rubbing Joey on the back before heading out with Morgan. 

When you're in the car, Morgan asks you, "so how many people like that do you know?"

"Gay people?" You tease him, "quite a few, actually. We're living in the 21st century, love is love!" 

"I meant, _dealers_ ," he clarifies, not letting your teasing phase him, "you really roll with guys like these?"

You never liked that intonation that people who make their money under the table are somehow crooks and criminals… 

"Everyone's got to make a living somehow," you tell Morgan, "not all the people who bring in stolen cars do it maliciously. A lot of them just need fast cash and Joey pays them a fair price. You should know, you've seen it before, when you were a cop. The things people need to do to stay afloat in a world that's given up on them. There should be no excuses for their criminal behavior, but…sometimes it's good to have compassion."

Morgan breathes in, then exhales, nodding. He understands where you're coming from. He drives you back to the office and you all regroup with everyone else. 

"Garcia, what do you have for me, baby girl?" Morgan says as he walks in. 

Garcia stands in the conference room, pointing at a list of cars, saying, "so it took me a while but I managed to cross reference cars that were reported stolen with the list of cars you got me that were stripped and sold as parts. When I took out those cars, I got this list and then ran them next to the list of cars recently involved in accidents, which narrowed the list down even further."

"So, essentially, we have a list of what stolen cars are still out there?" Prentiss asks.

"Yes, exactly," Garcia comments, "after all this filtering, these are the leftover cars. Now, if our suspicions are correct, then we are looking for a hatchback."

"That's terribly broad," Rossi interjects. 

"See, that's what I thought as well, _except_ ," Garcia pulls out a map from her file, pining it to the board, "I triangulated where all the cars involved in the accidents were reported stolen and they were all stolen from this surrounding area." 

You follow the points on the map. All of them were stolen a few streets away from each other. A car they're comfortable with taking.

Most cars can be hotwired, but it takes a certain amount of skill to steal a higher end make and model. A standard hatchback, at least older models, can be stolen with common street knowledge. 

It makes sense that the unsub has an obvious preference. 

"And I'm guessing you have a list of all the remaining hatchback owners in that area?" Reid asks and Garcia nods, pulling them out. 

"How do we know they need to steal a car still?" J.J inquires, "they might already have a stolen hatchback setup for this plan." 

"Look at the dates," you point out, "the unsub steals the car then keeps it for a day, most likely taking the time to rig it, then an accident miraculously happens the next day, before another stolen car is reported. If this pattern persists…" 

"Then the unsub will strike tomorrow," Hotch determines. "If we play it smart, the unsub could lead us straight to where they're hiding out and we can plan a full bust then." 

"We'll have everyone posted nearby a hatchback and call in when it's been stolen," Rossi instructs. "It's late, so let's get some rest and set up in the morning." 

You gather some reading material for tonight on the case as Rossi and Hotch discuss the plans for the bust. You print out witness statements, then something strange crosses your mind. 

"What's up?" Reid catches the look in your eye.

"I-" you start to speak your mind, but you stop, saying, "it's probably nothing. Just a thought."

"Share," Reid opens his ears to you, rolling his chair over to you. 

At first, you're reluctant, but you decide it can't hurt to have an opinion on the thoughts racing through your mind.

"What if our unsub, or at least one of the many, was there at the accident?" You hold the witness statements in your hand. 

"That's a possibility, but we can't do much with the information if they were," Reid tells you flat out.

"Yeah, that's what I thought," you sigh. 

"Did we ever find any fragments of a bomb?" Morgan asks Reid and Prentiss, who had gone through all the police reports. 

Prentiss shakes her head, "everything was pretty much blown up on site, didn't leave an ounce of evidence, just like the other car accidents before." 

"These guys are calculated," Reid answers, "it's lucky that we figured them out." 

Reid's words run through your mind. 

Was it luck, or good intuition? 

"Morgan, keys," Hotch's voice makes you all turn back towards him. Morgan tosses him the keys and Hotch looks at you, saying, "ready to go?"

"Yeah," you shake off your thoughts, grabbing your things before saying, "goodnight all!"

The drive back is…a bit anxiety-inducing. You're nervous the whole time, not really knowing why, the sound of the explosion ringing in your ears. 

You just can't get it out of your head… 

"What's on your mind?" Hotch asks you as he carries your groceries into the house. "You haven't said a word since we left."

"Oh," you rub your eyes, not even realizing. "I'm just…thinking." 

"About?" Hotch sets your bags on the kitchen counter. 

"Reid said that we were lucky to have figured it out," you scratch your head, not knowing why his words stuck on your mind, "this whole thing, I just feel like it fell into our hands too easy." 

"How so?" 

You look up at him, tapping your hands against the counter nervously, not making eye contact as you speak, "what is the probability that the unsubs created an accident and we just happened to be right there in front of it? Two FBI agents, in the B.A.U no less?"

"It could purely be a coincidence," Hotch tells you, looking at you with a worried expression. He knows the look in your eye. 

The uncertainty of what's to come. 

"But what if it isn't?" You let out with a tired breath, "what if…" 

"It's late," he walks up to you, patting you on the shoulder, "you should get some rest. We've had a long day." 

"I can't sleep, Hotch," you look up at him. "There's too much on my mind." 

"Then, why don't I give you something else to think about?" He says before picking you up and sitting you on the counter. 

Before you get another word in, Hotch takes your face in his hands and pulls you towards him, kissing you. He closes the gap between the two of you and you wrap your legs around his waist, pulling him in closer to you. 

You can't help it. You love the feeling of his body against yours. 

"You know," you breathe against his lips, pulling at his polo shirt, "I've always wanted to fuck a golfer."

"Please be quiet," he silences you by crashing his lips back against yours, his hands on the edge of the counter now, his hips pressed up against yours. 

Your lips latch onto his, hungrily, wanting nothing more than his hands all over your body. In a way, you needed this. You needed to forget that sick feeling that was making it way through you. _Fear_. 

You close your eyes, just trying to focus only on Hotch. His lips against yours. His hands on your skin. 

You feel him tug at your jeans and you let him pull them off, along with your underwear. His fingers brush up and down your core, teasing you as his mouth never dares to leave yours. 

You pull him in closer, your arms wrapped around his neck, not wanting to be away from him. You moan against his lips the moment his fingers begin to rub your clit and he smiles at the noise.

"I've figured you out, haven't I?" Hotch asks you as he touches you just the way you like it, "I know exactly how to steal your breath away." 

"Don't get cocky," you tell him, though the heavy breaths leaving your lips betray you. 

The one thing you've noticed in your time with Hotch is that he always takes the time to make sure you've climaxed. Never once have you been left unsatisfied, no matter how long he teases you. 

"I think I've figured you out," you smile that cheeky smile of yours. 

"What have you figured out?" He says, his fingers now finding their way into you, making you gasp.

You reach up, taking his cheek in your palm, and with a shy grin, you go, "you _like_ stealing my breath away."

"I do," he admits, before his lips find their way against yours again. 

His fingers curl perfectly inside of you as you both kiss, your mind washing over with pleasure. You sigh against his lips, never wanting this feeling to end. When you've come down from your high, you find the words to reply. 

"I guess I can't relate," you tease him. "I like pissing you off too much, _and I'm better at stealing_."

Hotch shakes his head disapprovingly at your comment, but his mouth curves into a grin. 

You pull him in for a kiss as he steps out of his pants, lining himself up against you. Every time he fills you up, you think to yourself that you'll get used to it, but each time, it surprises you. 

You grind your hips against his as he slides in and out of you. You're soaking wet and the sound of him thrusting echoes through the kitchen. 

You clutch onto him, your arms wrapped around him, wanting to be as close to him as you could be, your lips never wavering from his. 

Again, his warm cum spills inside of you and you feel him press his forehead against yours, moving his lips away. He catches his breath, having been consumed by your lips. You close your eyes, wanting to remember this moment. The sound of his controlled breathing. The smell of his aftershave. The feeling of him. 

When Hotch has finally cooled down, he pulls out of you and you instinctively grab him the moment you feel empty again, the whimper leaving your lips before you can stop it. He gently squeezes your hands with his, acknowledging your plea for attention. 

"Come shower with me," he gestures to the downstairs bathroom and you nod.

"Only if you use the new soaps I bought," you say and he agrees, though he doesn't have much of a choice.

The shower has plenty of room for both you and Hotch. You're surprised to see that it has one of those rain showers that pours water down from above. When Hotch bought this home, he must've thought he would get a chance to use it sometimes.

If only life went the way we wanted it to… 

Suddenly, cold water rains down on you and you shriek. Hotch lets out a laugh at your shriveled up reaction and you stare at him as if you'd be ready to assassinate him right here and now.

"You seemed distracted," he jokes, "so I thought I'd bring you back to reality."

"I really hate you," you roll your eyes at him, your skin slowly adjusting to the freezing cold water. 

Hotch brushes the wet hair from your face, his fingers slipping through it, watching as the water flows down your skin.

"Eyes up here, Hotch," you catch him taking in the sight of your naked body.

"Sorry," he says rather insincerely. His eyes meet yours again, but his hands start to roam, sliding up your sides to your cold breasts. Your nipples are hard and his thumbs can't help but tease them. 

Then, he leans down, taking your nipple in his mouth, his hot tongue making you quiver, as you breathe out, "I thought we were taking a shower…"

"We were," he answers, "but now…" 

Hotch presses you up against the shower wall, the tiles cold against your back. You hold your breath as his warm hands cup your breasts, caressing them with both his hands and his greedy mouth. His lips take hold of every inch of your chest, kissing and sucking as he likes. 

The cold water begins to hit Hotch, wetting his normally perfect hair, and you can't help but run your fingers through, brushing his hair back. To think, he could look more handsome than he already does. 

There was something about seeing a man like Hotch, completely naked, dripping wet from head to toe. It is enough to get you _soaked_. 

One of his hands moves away from your chest, sneaking its way back to your sensitive clit. You had just climaxed earlier…you don't even remember how many times. Just the slightest touch makes your legs weak. 

"I can't keep myself up," you lean forward, gripping his shoulders for support as his fingers rub circles against you again, "please…" 

"Do you want me to stop?" Hotch asks and you can tell he's being genuine, but his fingers still keep at it, his eyes looking into yours, waiting for a sign to stop. 

You swallow, biting your lip. Then, you shake your head, admitting to Hotch and yourself that you want him to keep going. 

"Then you better hold yourself up," he demands as his fingers find their way inside of you once again, making you press harder against the tiled wall behind you. You arch your back, your knees shaking at the way he roughly fingers you. 

You hold onto his shoulders, your eyes locked on his, his intense gaze enough to make you spill out onto him, but he stops moving right as you're about to climax. You shake, gripping him tighter, whimpering at the feeling of losing your orgasm when you were so close… 

"Hotch, _please_ ," you beg, your hips wanting to move but his other hand holds you still, stopping you from finishing yourself off. 

He leans in, kissing your neck before whispering into your ear, "say my name and ask me again." 

With his eyes fixated back on yours, his name leaves your lips as you plead, "Aaron, please let me cum." 

It hits you like a storm. His rough fingers thrust back into you while his lips crash against yours, stealing every breath you have left. You moan on his lips as your whole body explodes in the most intense orgasm you've had yet, skyrocketing from the edging. Hotch holds you steady against the wall, not letting you fall out of his arms, making you ride every second of this high. 

You practically collapse onto him, clutching his strong arms, your heart beating right out of your chest. Your mind is fuzzy, the orgasm clouding every thought. 

All you can think about is the way Hotch makes you feel. The shower no longer feels cold. Your skin is burning hot and the water helps immensely. 

You finally come down from your high and you look at Hotch, who is rock hard once again. He catches you staring and says, "eyes up here."

You let out a brief chuckle and go, "it looks like you have a problem." 

Hotch then turns you around, pressing you up against the wall, your arms holding you up, as he replies, "and you're the answer."

His length slams right into you as he says that and you bite your lip to stop yourself from screaming his name. From behind, he fills you up in a way that makes you remember the first time. It's rough, passionate, the way he just takes full hold of you. 

Since he had just came earlier, he lasts much, _much_ , longer than usual. You can barely stay standing and he knows that, so he slips out of you, only to pull you down to the floor of the bath. Hotch lays down, pulling you onto his lap, and you know what he wants. You take his length and guide it back inside of you, riding him with the shower pouring down over you. 

Hotch stares up at you as you lean back, letting the cold water drip down all over your skin, your hips sliding up and down against him. You can feel your breathing growing heavy once again, another orgasm building, and Hotch leans forward so that his hand can palm your clit. 

"Aaron, this-" you barely get any words out as your next climax blasts through you, your hips grinding desperately to prolong it. 

Soon after, he grabs your hips, pulling you right down against him, filling you up once again. You drop forward, your head against his chest as you feel the warmth spill inside of you once again. You can hear how fast his heart is beating. 

It matches yours. 

You both lay there, trying to catch your breaths, the cold shower water helping. Hotch pulls you in for a kiss and you melt at the gentleness of his lips. 

"Now, I'll really need a shower," you breathe out onto his lips. 

He nods his head, replying, "me too."

Hotch helps you get off him and you both rinse off, washing your bodies head to toe. His hands get a bit greedy again, caressing you with soap. You let him, just because you enjoy his touch too much, and you nearly climax again when he slides his hand over your core. He knows your body too well now, and you love every second of it. 

With a final rinse, you and Hotch share a steamy kiss, before he reaches back to shut off the shower. He leans down to kiss the nape of your neck and says, "the soap does smell nice."

You playfully shove him off you, shaking your head with a smile on your face, getting out of the shower. You dry off as best you can before wrapping a towel around your body and heading up to your room to grab clothes to wear. 

When you're dressed again and your hair has been blow dried, you come back downstairs to see Hotch in his pajamas, drinking some water. 

"Do you want a glass?" He asks and you nod. 

He quickly pours you one and you drink it in one gulp, thirsty after everything that just happened. 

"I'm guessing you're not going to bed," Hotch determines from the way your eyes are locked on the witness statements. "You really should. It's late and you must be tired…" 

He slowly walks up to you, placing his hands on your shoulders, massaging them. His eyes are so kind right now. He's trying to lull you into going to bed, but you know that you won't be able to sleep. 

There was something about this case that would be keeping you up until you did something about it… 

"I can't sleep, Hotch," you let out a sigh, "not yet." 

Hotch stares into your eyes and then gives you a gentle smile, knowing that he won't be able to convince you. 

You're too determined to solve this case. 

"I'll make a pot of coffee then," he tells you, moving away to do so. 

You stand there, wishing you didn't have this terrible feeling piling up in your gut, before going over to the couch with your papers. 

After about three cups of coffee, you have read and marked up all of the witness statements. You wished you had walked around a bit more, scoping out who was there watching. 

The thing about humans was…destruction draws the eyes in. There's no way to avoid it. You see an explosion and you slam your brakes, not because you're scared, _but because you want to see_. You can't help it. 

It's instinctual to be drawn to disaster… 

It's as if our fight or flight instinct overwhelms our senses and we can't pick either, so we just freeze in place, watching the world burn. 

And what better to capture such a scene than… 

"A live broadcast," the words leave your lips.

"Hmm?" Hotch glances at you from his desk, "did you say something?" 

"There was a helicopter there," you quickly turned on the TV, "the news coverage."

You watch as the local late night news recaps the events of the explosion. They claim that it was all a car accident gone wrong, rippling into a domino effect on the cars nearby, ultimately resulting in a tremendous boom when the gasoline truck leaked. 

All information that J.J had made sure to stress the importance of. 

Then, they show the aerial footage of the event and you suddenly stand up, walking towards the TV, telling Hotch, "tape this, tape this!"

Hotch nods, scrambling to grab his DVR remote, recording the segment. You kneel down beside the TV, staring closely at the footage. 

Then, you see it. 

A nondescript vehicle, on the other side of the freeway, full-stopped, watching the destruction. 

There are many other cars beside it, but you note the slower movements, despite being in the left lane and being on the opposite side of the highway. There were no restrictions, the accident was only on one side of the freeway. There was no need to watch for that long. 

This is purposeful positioning. 

"We need to run this car," you tell Hotch, "is Garcia still up?"

Hotch pulls out his phone and calls Garcia at home. She ends up answering after a few rings, saying, "welcome to the kingdom of beauty sleep, you've just woken up the queen." 

"Garcia, I need you to enhance a video still for me and see if you can get the license plate on the vehicle," Hotch explains, "then I want you to track every single traffic cam that this car pops up in." 

"Send it over and I'll get right to it," she answers. 

Hotch sends her the recording and Garcia works her magic. She isn't able to enhance the still, but she's able to catch the same car exiting the highway on a traffic cam, where she's able to secure a plate.

"It's a stolen car, but it's not from that neighborhood from before," Garcia informs over the phone.

"Do you know where it went?" He asks her.

"I followed it through as many cams as I could and the last place I pinpointed it was at a restaurant on the southside of town," she elaborates, "but get this, the restaurant has been closed down for at least a year now and the lease has been up for grabs, but no takers."

"Thanks Garcia," Hotch says, "get some rest, sorry for the late night call."

"Anytime, sir," she tells him before hanging up.

The silence fills the air as you sit down on the couch, biting your nails. That unavoidable feeling of fear slowly overwhelms you. 

You take a deep breath, your heart racing, as you utter, "it was a set-up, they wanted us to track down what cars they'd be hitting next...classic misdirection..." 

"You can't be sure of that, Y/N," Hotch tries to calm you down, seeing the anxiety overwhelm you. 

You shake your head, your mind aching, the fear now consuming you.

Whoever these people were, they aren't after the secretary of state. 

_They're after the B.A.U._

"Why would they be after us?" Hotch can't wrap his mind around that. 

"I don't know, but we'll find out tomorrow," you say, looking over your shoulder. "I think they were following us. I think…" 

"That we were meant to be in that accident," he fills in your thoughts. 

"It was too close for comfort, Hotch," you stare back at him, "if you hadn't slammed the brakes in time, that car would've come right for us. _It wanted to hit us_."

If he had been just the slightest bit distracted…you both wouldn't be here right now. You could tell the thought crossed his mind as well. 

You both were being followed today, but neither of you realized it. You were both too focused on each other. 

The unsubs knew this, somehow, which worries you. 

How long have they been following you? 

"We'll have answers in the morning," Hotch urges you to get some rest. "We can't jump to conclusions." 

Your heart is pounding so loud that you doubt you'll be able to sleep tonight. 

Could you just be paranoid? 

You shake away the thoughts that lurk deep in your mind, the thoughts you've locked away. You threw away that key a long time ago. No need to unlock that pain now. 

Not when there's someone here watching you. You can't break now. 

Not again.

The look in your eyes is something Hotch has never seen before, at least not in you. He has had those same eyes before, whenever he fears the team is in danger and he has no way of stopping it.

The thought of it keeps him up at night and he could see the way it's eating away at you. 

"Y/N," he calls out your name, hoping it will break you away from your trance. 

Your mind, however, is too jumbled to hear him. You stand there, frozen in fear, just like before, when you stole the gun from Maria. All the emotions are catching up to you and you tense up, unable to do anything about it. 

Then, suddenly, you feel something. Someone. 

Warm hands, wrapping themselves around you, before lifting you up. 

You blink. Then blink again. 

You look up and your eyes are on Hotch. You watch him carry you past your bedroom and into his. He sets you down on his bed and comes to lay next to you. 

"What are you doing, Hotch?" You ask him, confused at what's going on.

"You're scared," he tells you, "so I don't want you to be alone. We can stay in your bedroom if that makes you more comfortable." 

His arms gesture, offering to move you. You shake your head, then your eyes go back to simply staring at him. 

Hotch looks back at you with that unease again, the apparent worry. 

"Am I…scared?" You blurt out, not really knowing how you feel anymore. You had felt fear, but now you felt nothing. 

Everything was numb. 

Hotch nods his head, then he proceeds to pull you towards him, making you lay against his chest. You listen to his heartbeat, to the rise and fall of his chest. It's…comforting. 

"It's okay to be scared," Hotch tells you, "you work in a team now. It's natural to be fearful for the safety of those close to you." 

When was the last time you had people close to you? 

You can't remember… 

"I have a bad feeling," you confess, "I don't think we should lay in wait for those cars."

"I trust your instincts," he says as he rubs your back gently, "I won't post the team there, we'll have other officers posted. If these unsubs are after the B.A.U, then they won't hurt those officers."

"How can you be sure?" You look up at him, your eyes begging for answers, "they killed those innocent people in those car accidents." 

"They had to, to get our attention," Hotch explains, "if your hunch is correct, then now that they have our attention, they'll seek to only hurt us." 

"We can't let them do that," you plead, "I-I don't want anyone to get hurt…" 

"I know," he calmly reassures you, "no one is going to get hurt. We'll be prepared. We know more than they do now. We'll get them." 

Your eyes go back to Hotch's and he looks at you with a surefire confidence. You wished you had the heart to believe his words, but perhaps you could find the will to let the lie slide. 

The truth is, he doesn't know the outcome of tomorrow. Neither do you. 

However, in this moment, all he cares about is making you feel safe. You appreciate the sentiment. 

So, you lean up, pressing a kiss against his cheek, before saying, "thank you." 

Hotch then leans over, so you both are facing each other, on your sides, locking eyes. He leans forward, his lips meeting yours for just a brief moment. The way he kisses you…it's not new, but the feeling it evokes within you is different. This kiss is filled with comfort.

You never wanted it to end. 

You hold onto his lips for as long as you can before Hotch pulls away, saying, "goodnight." 

"Goodnight," you tell him, but your eyes are still on his and your lips beg to be kissed again. 

It takes every ounce of willpower within him not to kiss you again. He can't. He can't give in. 

The moment he does, he'll lose you. He knows his place. He can't break from that. 

Even if he wanted to… 

After you've come to your senses, you realize your own actions. You almost slipped up. You almost let yourself fall for Hotch. 

_Don't be stupid_ , you tell yourself. 

You both flip around at the same time, reeling at the moment before, vowing never to let it happen again. 

You had a good thing going on with Hotch. You can't ruin it. You can't… 

No matter how much your heart ached for him…


	7. Phoenix Rising

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning(s): Graphic Depictions of Violence, Degrading Slurs

After tossing and turning for a few hours, you manage to sleep a little before something painful jerks you awake. 

A headache ravages your mind. You wince at the feeling, clutching your head. It feels like something pierced your skull, throbbing. 

Then, you look to your side and Hotch isn't there. 

Where did he go? Was he up already?

The pain creeps up on you and you need to make it stop. You had bought some ibuprofen when you went out with Hotch. It's in your room. You just need to get there.

You get up, slowly, feeling dizzy the moment you stand. 

Why were you so dizzy… 

You grab a hold of the nearby wall, trying to reach for the door, but you don't feel a door. 

You don't…feel _anything_. 

Your hands roam the walls but there's nothing. 

Then, you realize there wasn't a bed at all. 

You hadn't just woken up. 

No, _no_ , you've been awake. For how long? 

Why can't you remember anything? 

Why was your mind so foggy!

_Think, think, think!_

You drop to the floor, the ache in your mind only increasing every time you try to remember. The ground is cold concrete. The air is stale, like the room is sterile. It smells like clean metal. 

There's nothing in the room except a blanket on the floor. You reach over, touching the blanket. It's a soft comforter, the only thing in this room that was palatable to the touch.

Again, however, it's new. It feels like you're the only one who has ever used it. 

So, that's where you just woke up. Not in Hotch's bed. 

Why are you here? Where's Hotch? 

Where are you… 

You squeeze your face tight, trying to clear your vision, focusing on your surroundings. 

That's when you see it. A small hole in the wall, right in the middle of a mirror. 

Enough to place a camera, watching your every move.

_Waiting for you to wake up._

You don't acknowledge it immediately. You wait patiently for your headache to subside, not wanting to react prematurely when you aren't ready. 

Whatever is going on, you'll need your wits to get out of it. You'll need your strength. So, you play the waiting game, acting as drowsy as you can, letting yourself observe the room with clarity. 

Wherever you are, you know you must be in a basement. When you pat the ground with your foot, the concrete is sturdy, without echo. You're either on the bottom floor, or in a basement. 

The walls are reinforced iron. This place doesn't look hastily made. It's been prepared ahead of time. 

_For me_ , you think. 

You see the thin lines running down the metal. One of these panels opens up. 

Now, how do you get it open? 

That's the question. 

You'll need the unsub for that. You'll need to see who you're dealing with. 

All while your memory catches up with you… 

You look down at what's on you. You're wearing work clothes, but nothing in your pockets. No shoes either. No jewelry. 

Nothing to fight with, essentially. 

You decide it's time to confront the camera, so you walk up to it, staring into it with curious eyes, poking it with your fingers. 

The unsub has left you unrestrained. 

Why? Are they not threatened by you? 

They have to assume that you aren't strong enough to take them in a fight. That means that either you have something to worry about, or they do. 

Your memory refuses to clear up. 

What happened to you? How did you get here?

You've obviously been drugged. You've obviously been taken somewhere.

But, why? 

With your eyes directly on the camera, you decide to ask whoever is watching you directly, "what did you do to me?" 

Suddenly, a voice comes from behind you, answering, "shouldn't I be asking you that?" 

When you turn around, you come face to face with… 

_A ghost_. 

The blood drains from your face and you swallow, staring into those dead eyes that sink into your own, giving you a glare so deeply filled with hatred. 

You slowly back up, shaking your head.

"No," you say in disbelief, "you're dead. I watched you die."

Then, in the eeriest voice you've ever heard, he replies back, "I am dead, Y/N. _You killed me_." 

…

…

…

_Six hours earlier…_

You wake up in Hotch's bed and as your eyes open, you catch yourself holding your breath. You're facing a sleeping Hotch, with his eyes closed, sleeping rather peacefully. His breathing is quiet, slow. He must be comfortable. 

You mustn't wake him. 

You get up quietly and sneak back to your room, checking your phone. It's 6am. You barely slept, but you couldn't get yourself to stay in bed any longer. 

Not with Hotch there, looking as handsome as he does. You might just slip up again. 

You clench your fist, letting out a sigh. 

"I can't," you say under your breath, before shaking your head. 

What you feel for Hotch is purely physical. You need to keep reminding yourself that. You can't seek anything more than that.

You've already tread the line of friendship with him. You can't tread any other lines. 

He's getting too close, and you're letting him. 

_Stop_ , you beg to yourself, _before you get hurt._

You look up into the mirror in front of you, seeing tears fall down from your eyes.

_So much for that…_

You shove any emotion back into the depths of your heart, promising to keep it there from now on. No more close calls. 

No more feelings. 

With a splash of water on your face, you wash away everything on your mind. You need to focus on the case. Someone is after the B.A.U. 

Who could it be, and why?

What motive do they have? 

You can't dwell on that just yet. There's not enough data for you to go on for those things. 

So, you backtrack. What do you know?

Suicide car accidents. Intentional collisions. Hotch says they have to use some kind of bomb, but wouldn't that require a detonator? 

No phones were found on the scene. No identifying markers. The bodies all burnt up. You have no idea who died, only the victims, never the ones who started the accidents. 

They were made sure to have burnt up. 

So, what if…it wasn't suicide. 

What if this is a serial killer, trying to cover their tracks with car accidents? 

You've read one case like this before that the B.A.U had encountered, but the unsub had killed them all beforehand and the police could tell that immediately after medical examination. 

This time, the unsub took any possible medical examination out of the equation, burning up all the evidence at the scene.

That could only mean one thing. 

Someone had to be there to detonate those bombs. 

_Witness statements_. 

You scramble out of the bathroom, running downstairs, startled by the sight of Hotch in the kitchen, making a pot of coffee. 

"I see you're up," he says, but you don't even react, grabbing your notes.

Your eyes never leave them as you scan the pages of all the accidents' cases, looking over every witness statement. 

"Oh my god," you pull the papers out, piling them up, "it's one fucking guy!" 

"What?" Hotch looks at you, puzzled by your sudden exclamation. 

You lay the witness statements out on the counter, sticking them all together with post-it notes, before drawing a line that connects them. 

"'It's tragic what happened to them," you begin to read off the matching statements, "the explosion was intense, wasn't it? It would be surprising if anything could survive all those flames…'"

"Wait," Hotch comes next to you, looking at the statements beside you, "are you telling me…" 

"All these statements, they sound so similar. It must be the same guy," you gesture to the police's description of the witness, "it matches." 

"If what you're saying is true, then how does our unsub get these people to drive their cars into people?" He asks, trying to figure it out himself. "We'll need the whole team on this."

You nod your head, running upstairs to get dressed. 

You and Hotch then quickly drive to the office and as everyone files in, you lay out your discoveries for everyone to hear. 

"This is absolutely insane," Morgan cuts through the silence after you finish presenting your statements, "this unsub is beyond calculated."

"He's playing a game of chess with us," Reid describes, "he's already mapped our moves out ahead of time. He knows what we're going to do, what we're going to figure out, before we've even figured it out." 

"That could only mean that he's left us something in that restaurant," Prentiss points out, "he wants us to go there."

"It's an ambush," Rossi tells you all, "he wants us all there for a reason."

"Will the secretary of state be alright?" J.J asks the pressing question, wanting to rule this out as terrorism now.

"Make sure they fly in with a helicopter instead of driving, just don't tell them why. We've got enough to worry about, we don't need higher government breathing down our throats too," Hotch directs and J.J nods. 

"There's no way we can't go," you tell the team, "he has someone hostage. He'll get them in a car and he'll make them drive to wherever he wants before blowing it up."

"We need to go through each accident again," Hotch instructs, "see if we can find any similarities between the drivers."

"Hotch, they're nothing but ash," Morgan tells him, "we've got _nothing_." 

"We might have something," Garcia suddenly speaks up and everyone turns to her. She pulls it up on the projector. 

It's a statement by a prostitute, informing the police of her friend's abduction. They didn't do anything about it, due to lack of evidence. 

"This report was given the night before the first accident," Garcia says. 

"High risk victim, she would've been dead before the police could even search for her," Rossi notes, "good work, Garcia."

"Thank you, sir," she replies and you could tell she wanted to smile but she couldn't. 

"We'll need to see if anyone else has been abducted recently," Hotch gestures to Reid and Prentiss, "I need you on the street, talk to as many people as you can. J.J, I want this released to the press. The public should be aware that there might be a serial killer covering up his murders with car accidents. Establish a tip hotline, maybe someone will call in, remembering an old accident they witnessed." 

"Is that the best idea?" Rossi asks, "we might just force his hand. He could kill his next victim immediately."

"He won't," Hotch tells him, "because he doesn't want her dead. He wants us to find her." 

"I just can't wrap my mind around that," you tell the team, "why does he want us to follow his trail so badly?" 

"Maybe that's his game," Reid answers, "he likes the chase. He had built all of it up, wanting to spark the start of the game with the murder of two FBI agents. Now, he's preparing the next level for us."

"I'm not looking forward to what that might be," Morgan shakes his head, turning to Hotch, "are we going to the restaurant then?"

Hotch nods, "we'll go in the moment we see movement." 

Everyone then files out, going to where they need to go. Hotch gestures for you to wait and you listen. When everyone has left, he walks up to you and goes, "I want you to stay here and man the hotline with J.J."

"What? No, I should be out there with you," you protest. 

"Listen," he looks right into your eyes as he says, "this unsub wants us dead. He couldn't kill us before, but he will find a way to now. I can't risk that."

"I'm not backing out of this, Hotch," you tell him firmly, "I'm not afraid of dying."

"I know, and that scares me," he admits, seeing the determined look in your eye. 

"I can't have this conversation right now," you shake your head, "we have a location to scout out. We need to go." 

You brush past him but he grabs your arm before you can get away. Then, with a strained voice, he insists, knowing he can't keep you away from the case, "then just promise me, no matter what happens, you'll stay behind me." 

"Fine," you reply, before yanking your arm away from him and heading to the parking lot. 

You sit in the front with Morgan, letting Hotch and Rossi take the back seat. You keep your eyes glued to the case file, trying to figure out more on the unsub that might not be in the files. 

However, you can barely stay focused. You just think back to Hotch earlier. He can't possibly think you're going to try to get yourself killed, right? 

You understand that what happened before with Maria was a bit reckless, but you knew she wouldn't harm you. Her hatred was directed towards men. She wouldn't have fired on you under any circumstances, not even if it was her only option left. 

You knew this for a fact. You were good at your job. 

You would know how to deal with this unsub, if it came down to it. 

For an hour, you four lay and wait for any heat signatures to pick up in the building. Hotch mans the phones, talking with J.J about any incoming tips. Some people called in, saying they saw nervous looking girls driving the cars before the accidents. 

"So our unsub has a preferred victim," Rossi comments, "vulnerable women."

"How does he get him into the cars, though," you try to come up with something that makes sense, "and how does he get them to drive?"

"The car could be double rigged," Morgan says, "maybe if the victim tried to leave the car or slow down, it could trigger an explosion."

"So she's driving to save her life, not knowing that she's already dead the moment she's strapped down to that car," you clench your fists, frustrated. "I hate this. There's no way of knowing if our next victim is safe or already given a death sentence."

Hotch gets off the phone and states, "Prentiss and Reid have established who have been kidnapped and coerced into these deadly car accidents. Garcia is checking to see if there's anything similar between all of these victims as we speak." 

"Look!" Morgan catches all of your attention as a hooded man walks into the restaurant. 

"Let's go," Hotch exits the car immediately. 

You touch the bulletproof vest you're wearing and cautiously follow behind as Morgan busts through the front door, scanning the room. 

"Clear!" He shouts, gesturing for you all to enter behind him. 

The restaurant is completely bare, nothing but dust particles in the air and an open space with a tattered menu board about to fall down. They served shawarma here.

You wondered if it was any good… 

You have your gun out, your heart beating at a steady pace. There's three rooms, so Morgan and Rossi each take one and you and Hotch take the last one. 

Altogether, you each bust into the room.

"Clear!" Rossi yells from a storage room.

"Clear!" Morgan exclaims from the kitchen. 

As Hotch breaks down the door to the break room, you both walk in and… 

"Holy fuck," your eyes don't believe what you're seeing. 

"Clear!" Hotch yells, "but I need you both back here!"

The sight before you is unbelievable. 

The walls are filled with photos from head to toe. They're all photos of the B.A.U. 

"Whoever this unsub is, they've been stalking all of us for a while," Rossi points out. 

Morgan pulls out his phone and begins to film everything, knowing that he won't be able to take each photo individually. 

The NYC jewelry store case. The LA burglary homicide. The SF serial killer. 

These are candid photos of all of you, splattered all over the place. There's no apparent order to them. 

You walk up to one that draws your attention. It's you, inside the 7-11. It's taken from the outside. There's another nearby. It's you, leaving the NYPD office, after being released. Again, taken at a distance. You wouldn't have even noticed. 

Then, there's one of you and Hotch. You're at the mall together, in the store. It captures when you're arguing about soap. Perfectly distracted. The unsub could've been just the next aisle down and neither of you would've known.

All these catch your eyes because…you're framed perfectly center and you're smiling. 

You're happy. 

"What the fuck," you pull the photos off the wall, staring at them in your hand, before flipping them over to see if they have anything on the back.

That's when you see it.

Red stains. 

You stare back at the wall and see a red patch. You take one sniff. 

It's blood. 

"Take the photos down!" You tell everyone as you start ripping the photos off the wall, revealing the word _kill_. 

Everyone listens and slowly, the photos fill the floor and the words written in blood become apparent. 

Your blood runs completely cold as you stare at it. 

It reads: _Who really killed Justin Turner?_

Then, in the center of all the words, is the photograph you had carried in your wallet. 

A man, laying on the sidewalk, shot dead. 

Morgan quickly takes a photo of it and sends it to Garcia, then calls her, saying, "baby girl, whatcha got on this?"

"I looked it up and…"

"He's the undercover agent that was killed during my final drop," you fill in what Garcia was going to say. 

"What was his undercover mission?" Rossi asks Garcia.

"He was in deep, had infiltrated a terrorist organization that had plans to burn the capital down," Garcia reads the file aloud, "he secretly foiled pretty much every attempt they made before he passed away."

"So could our unsubs be terrorists from the same organization, trying to avenge their fallen brother?" Hotch thinks aloud. "I'll need all the names of whoever is in this organization." 

"On it, sir, I'll call you back when I have more," Garcia says before she hangs up. 

Then, Hotch turns to you and says, "tell us what you know." 

Your eyes glance back at his and you can't seem to breathe out a word. The shock has completely fried your system… 

"Tell us what happened to him that day," Hotch demands. 

"I can't," you say back, your mouth dry. 

Your past is catching up with you too quickly. You can barely catch a breath before you feel Hotch come over to you, his eyes holding you hostage with his glare. 

"I need to know what you know," he tells you sternly. 

"I-" the words don't dare to leave your lips but you force them out as best you can, "I-I know who our unsub is _and who he's after_." 

Before Hotch can ask another question, Morgan's phone rings and he picks it up, whispering, "what is it?" 

Then, Morgan quickly puts Garcia on speaker and Garcia announces what she's found, something you had figured out on your own the moment you saw the photos on the wall, "all of our potential victims… _they look just like Y/N._ "

All eyes on you and you hold your breath, closing your eyes. 

_Breathe_ , you tell yourself. _Just breathe_.

You can't let the panic set in. The moment you do-

"What is the meaning of this? Answer me, Agent Y/L/N!" Hotch raises his voice, knowing you have the answers that they need to solve this case. 

"I watched him die," you confess, "I was there. I saw him bleed out. I…" 

"Who is he to you?" Hotch points at the bloody question on the wall. 

"To me, he wasn't anything," you admit, "but to him, I was _everything_." 

Right as those words leave your lips, the lights in the room begin to flicker and everyone immediately pulls out their guns, pointing them all around. 

Then, the room goes completely dark. And, when the lights come back on, _you're gone_. 

Vanished, out of thin air. 

Nothing left but a case file. 

Hotch kneels down to pick it up and he opens it. The case file is titled _The Killing of Justin Turner_ and on a single post-it note, Hotch reads aloud, "you have until midnight to solve this case, or Y/N dies." 

Suddenly, Morgan shouts, "gas!"

The smell of gas fills Hotch's senses and they all sprint out of the building just as it blows up, making all of them hit the ground at the sheer velocity of the blast. The explosion ripples through to the buildings near it. A distraction big enough for a grand escape. 

Hotch looks back and there's nothing left of the building.

Soon, there might be nothing left of you… 

"What's going on, Hotch?" Rossi asks as they all get up from the ground. 

With anxious eyes, Hotch answers, gripping the case file tightly in his hand, "the game has officially begun. He wants us to figure out how he died and what she has to do with it…" 

They quickly head back to the office to meet up with everyone else. It's heartbreaking to announce that you've been kidnapped and the only thing left of you is a cryptic case file. 

For the next hour, all they do is talk about what they could possibly know, to see if they can figure out where the unsub has taken you. 

"What else do we know about Justin Turner?" Hotch asks again, for what feels like the millionth time. 

"Hotch, there's nothing new," Morgan tells him. "We know as much as the file says." 

"No parents?" Hotch looks up at his team, who shake their head back at him. "What about friends?" 

"He was deep undercover for countless years, back to back terrorist groups," Prentiss sighs, "none of his friends would've seen him in a long time." 

"Interview them anyways," Hotch directs and Prentiss listens, exiting the conference room, "we need to figure out who he is, fundamentally, and how he ended up dead. We'll set up a meeting with the rest of Y/L/N's old team and see if they had any idea of their relationship." 

"We got it," Rossi gestures to Morgan and they head out. 

Your words ring in his ear. 

_To me, he wasn't anything. To him, I was everything._

"Do you really think he could still be alive?" Reid analyzes the crime scene photo, "there's no way anyone could survive that. The file says he was pronounced dead on the scene."

Hotch stares at the photo. Every time he looks at it, he feels like he's missing something. 

Then, he looks closely. 

The gunshot wounds. The way the blood spills. The expression on his face. 

There was something about all these pieces that Hotch needed to add up. 

"Reid, take out your gun," Hotch commands and Reid is startled by Hotch's request, but ends up complying. 

Hotch then points Reid's gun against his chest, then pulls his own gun out, pointing it at Reid. 

"If I was going to rob you, and it went wrong," Hotch tries to determine to recreate the scene, "where would you be…" 

"The wounds look like the shots were at a distance, but not a very far one," Reid backs up a few feet, "maybe about here." 

"So you would've seen it coming…" Hotch shakes his head, nothing about this adding up, "if I wanted to steal something, why would I shoot you at a distance? Why wouldn't I come right up behind you, press my gun against your head and make my demands?" 

"They said that the perpetrator had no previous charges of robbery, so maybe it was his first time?" Reid offers a solution, but it doesn't satisfy Hotch. 

"If it was my first try, I wouldn't be daring enough to shoot them, I would've ran," Hotch sighs. 

None of it makes sense, now that it's been laid out. How could the perp have shot Justin, while getting shot at the same time? They both died a few seconds after the other. 

"We need to see if any officers, EMTs, etc, remember coming to that scene," Hotch tells Reid. "Maybe they saw something we didn't keep a record of…" 

This is not your standard robbery, as much as it's made to look like it. 

"C-Can we put our guns away now?" Reid practically begs.

"Ah, sorry," Hotch apologizes, not realizing that he still had his gun pointed at Reid's chest, pulling it back in his holster, "I just-"

"I get it," Reid says kindly. "We all want Y/N to come out of this alive." 

Hotch nods before sitting down, looking at the crime scene photos again. 

Then, he thinks about what you've said about the crime. 

_Even though I'm the one who got him killed, I wasn't the one who pulled the trigger._

You had implied that someone else killed him. Hotch assumed that you meant the robber. 

But, what if someone else was there? 

The unsub, the real killer. The one holding you captive right now.

"We need to make two profiles, one for Justin and one for the unsub," Hotch begins to draft them out, "then we need to see if anyone in Justin's life fits the description." 

Reid helps with the profiles and then Hotch dials Morgan, who says, "yeah?"

"Do you still have the stolen car contact?" Hotch asks.

"I do," Morgan answers.

"We need to work on victimology, so go back and ask about Y/L/N," he instructs.

"Got it," Morgan then hangs up. 

Hotch grips his phone in his hand, taking a seat for a moment, just thinking about you.

The last thing he said to you was so harsh, so accusatory. The guilt suddenly hits him. He feels nauseous. 

If he wasn't so angry, would he have seen the kidnapping coming? Would he have been able to stop it? 

He was about to lose you, for real this time. 

Before he could even tell you anything… 

Garcia suddenly walks in with a grand sense of urgency. Hotch looks up and asks, "did you find something?"

"I...I think you need to see it for yourself," Garcia swallows, her face completely pale.

Hotch tells Reid to stay and talk to NYPD about the case while he follows Garcia back to her office. 

On Garcia's computer screen is…you. 

You're beaten, bloody, completely knocked out. The camera is wide angled and it captures someone coming into the room. 

It was the unsub, hovering over your body, blocking the camera view all of a sudden. 

Hotch nearly punches the wall, but he catches himself, his fist just leaning up against it, his other hand over his mouth, his heart aching. 

This unsub will pay for what he's done to you. Hotch will make sure of that. 

"Can you track the video feed?" Hotch asks, regaining some control over himself, though he knows she probably can't.

Garcia shakes her head, saying, "but, I know who the unsub is."

She quickly rewinds the video recording, to a few moments earlier. Hotch leans in, staring at the video feed. 

There he was, facing the camera. 

It's…Justin Turner.

Alive, breathing, with bloody hands from beating you. 

And a sadistic grin on his face. 

Hotch wanted to kill him right then and there. He wanted to pull him through the computer monitor and beat him senseless.

But, he maintains his composure, staring blankly at the screen, as he says aloud, "so, how does a man resurrect from the dead?"

… 

… 

… 

As the memories flow back to you, his words ring in your ears. 

_I am dead_ , he said. _You killed me, Y/N._

Suddenly, you feel his hand grip your throat, slamming you up against the metal wall with a tremendous amount of force. You can't breathe. He's choking you. You kick and punch him wherever you can reach but he won't budge. 

Right as you're about to faint, he lets you breathe again, dropping you to the floor. You clutch your neck, every breath painful, but you heaved anyways, pushing through the pain so your lungs could fill with air again. 

"I know what I did," you breathe out in anguish, answering his earlier words.

"Soon, they'll know too," he says with a devilish grin, "they'll find out that you're the one who made me into a monster, that it's all your fault." 

"Is that why I'm here?" You ask, your voice strained, "because you want them to hate me, just like you hate me?" 

"I do," he answers you sincerely, "I want you to keep your promise." 

You feel the tears building in your eyes as you cry out, "haven't I been keeping your damn promise!"

Then, photos spill out onto the floor from his jacket. They're photos… _of you and Hotch_. 

The lobby of your apartment. The hotel hallways. The front door of his house. 

"Maybe his wife was dumb enough not to notice, but I know what you look like when you've just been _fucked_ ," he spits out, shoving the photo in your face.

"That's all we are," you tell him, "I don't feel anything for him. He's just someone I use for sex." 

"Do you think I'm stupid?" He tosses more photos at your feet. 

This time, they're candids of Hotch, looking at you from a distance. His eyes…you've never seen those eyes before. 

But, there they were. 

The same eyes, except they are your own. Candids of you, looking right at Hotch. 

Those deep, longing eyes… 

"You promised," his hand back at your throat, choking you out, "you promised you'd never fall in love!"

"I don't love him!" You manage to shout as the air leaves your body. 

"You do, you fucking liar," he then throws you onto the hard concrete, kicking you in the stomach, "you dirty slut! You cheating bitch!"

You curl up, trying to defend your body from any more wounds, but he beats you as hard as he can before you completely pass out. 

He won't let you die. 

Not yet, at least. 

He gets up, seeing your limp body on the floor, before his eyes catch himself in the mirror. He walks up to the mirror, looking at himself. His eyes are sadistic and he grins at the sight of himself. 

Knowing that the FBI are watching everything. 

Soon, they'll know what you did to him.

Soon, they'll know the truth about you. 

No more secrets, no more hiding. 

You can't run away from him anymore…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The plot thickens! Leave your theories in the comments and see if you can guess what happens next! ~


	8. Fresh Start

_Six months ago…_

You flip your phone on, dialing your superior, saying, "what’s with this request?" 

"Look, he's never asked for a personal drop before," your boss, Kate Joyner, tells you in her brilliant British accent, something you're still getting used to, "he's one of our best agents. If it makes him happy, drop it off." 

"Are you sure about this?" You glance down at the black satin bag you're carrying, saying, "what are you writing this drop as?" 

"Personal: Family Heirloom," she tells you. "Fairly simple drop. 5pm, back alley, abandoned buildings. You're in, then you're out." 

"Alright, I'll be there," you then hang up, your phone clicking shut. 

You don't dare peek inside, but whatever it was, it felt like a ring. You swallow before biting your lip. 

Justin wouldn't be stupid enough…no, you trusted him. 

He wouldn't do something that foolish. 

You check your watch and you have some time to kill before the drop. You decide to answer a call you had gotten earlier. 

A father needed help stealing his family's jewelry back from petty thieves. It would be easy enough to swipe it back on the street. 

You'll have him meet you near the drop site, handing it off when you're done dropping whatever is in the bag to Justin. 

It takes you about three hours of tailing to pickpocket the thieves, since they had split and scattered all across NYC. You hated how big this city was sometimes, but it helped your line of work. 

You tuck the necklaces into your inner pocket, securely zipping them up. You definitely aren't looking to lose what you had just sought out for that many hours. 

When you glance at your watch again, it's almost 5, so you head over to the drop site. You pull up a few blocks away and walk the rest of the way, glancing all around. 

It's normally quiet here and if you heard even just the slightest bit of disturbance, you would bounce and give the signal for Justin to make his way out. 

But, the area seems completely quiet, so you proceed with caution. 

As predicted, Justin is waiting for you, his back leaned up against the graffitied wall. When he sees you in his line of sight, he smiles that warm smile you've grown accustomed to. Somehow, the job never dulled that smile. 

You wondered how he could do it, being undercover. It was hard enough for you to be yourself, you can't imagine being someone else all the time. 

"How's my girl doing?" Justin walks up to you, pulling you in for a hug. 

You hug him back briefly, giving him a quick peck on the cheek, before pulling away to ask rather bluntly, "what's with the request?" 

"Ouch, so cold!" He acts hurt. You roll your eyes at the theatrics, making him laugh.

"I'm serious, Justin," you keep pressing, "you know it's a big risk every time we make a drop. If anyone followed you…" 

"No one followed me," he slowly slides his hands over to your sides, caressing you. "You would know."

"I could slip up," you look him in the eye as you say that, but he just smiles that smile again. 

"As if you could ever slip," he brushes the hair away from your face, hooking it behind your ear gently, "you're too good at your job." 

"So are you, which is why you should've known that this 'drop' wasn't the brightest idea," you pull out the black satin bag from your pocket.

"You didn't look in it, did you?" He asks, reading your eyes for your response. 

"I didn't look, but I know it's a ring," you pinch the bag, showing the outline. 

"Then, you know what I'm going to ask," Justin pulls out the ring from the bag, before getting down on one knee. 

You hold your breath, staring at him with pure disbelief in your eyes.

_Oh god, he would be stupid enough…_

"Justin, what are you doing?" You glance down at him, never imagining you'd see him in such a position. 

"I've decided…I'm going to quit the FBI," he tells you, looking deeply into your eyes as he says, "and I want to be with you, forever. I love you, Y/N." 

"You can't be serious," you look at him, watching for signs that this is just some joke that he felt like pulling today of all days. 

"I am serious," he gets back up, slipping the ring on your finger before you can protest, "I'm tired of just fucking whenever we have a chance to. I'm tired of hiding my feelings for you. I'm tired of this undercover life. I just want to be with you."

"You're one of the best agents the FBI has ever had," you avoid answering him, saying instead, "do you really want to throw all that away? You know the work you do saves lives. Don't you want to keep doing that?"

"I thought I did," he admits, "but then I met you. I realized that it's time for me to be a little selfish. I can't keep saving other people's lives if I'm not even enjoying my own. I want to have a life. I want to have a wife. I want to be with you, so would you just _please_ tell me you'll marry me already!"

Justin looks at you with those puppy eyes that he does every time he wants you to cuddle with him after you both have sex. You have given in almost every single time. 

But, you can't this time. 

He may love you, but…you don't think you love him. 

You love the way his body feels against yours. You love the way his hair smells, or that smile that makes you smile. You love his attitude and his drive.

But, you don't love him. 

You can't love him, even if you wanted to. 

You made a promise you wouldn't. 

You made a promise you sought to keep.

So, you take his hands in yours, squeezing them tightly. Then, with a kind smile on your face, you answer, "Justin, I'm sorry-"

Before you can even react, you hear gunshots fire and you're immediately on the ground. Your head hits the pavement, blurring your vision momentarily.

_What the hell just happened!_

You grab a quick hold of your gun, pointing in the direction of the gunshots and… 

That's when you see him. 

He hovers over Justin's body and he screams, "what did you do! You killed him!" 

In your dizziness, you can barely make out the image in front of you. 

Then, you realize it's not your dizziness at all.

There _are_ two Justins. 

One, laying on the ground, bleeding to death. The other with a gun in his hand, panicking.

"It was supposed to be you! You're the one who deserves to die! Why did he push you aside…why did he protect you when you _lied!_ "

Suddenly, you feel a hand grab your throat viciously. He picks you up off the ground with a tremendous force, slamming you against the alley wall, making you drop your gun. 

"You promised," he shouts right in your face, "you promised you wouldn't fall in love, _with either of us_." 

"I don't love Justin!" You exclaim, your breaths in short supply.

"You're a lying whore!" He tosses you on the ground, making you tumble against the harsh gravel, only to grab a hold of your left wrist, shoving the ring in your face, "you were going to marry him! You were going to leave me! You were going to take him away from me!"

He then takes the ring from your finger, pulling it harshly off, cutting your skin in the process. You watch as the blood drips down your palm to your arm, staining your white blouse. 

"No," you shake your head, the tears falling down your face out of nowhere. He had you hanging by the wrist next to Justin's dead body. You cry out, "you killed him! You took him away from this world!"

"I didn't kill him!" He yells, completely delusional, dropping you back down on your knees, "you killed him! You did this!"

Then, he points his gun right at you, his finger on the trigger. He looks at you with evil eyes and you have always known those eyes were in there somewhere. 

They were the reason you could never love Justin. 

Because, the moment you let yourself love him, it would break _his brother_. 

Twins, seemingly identical from head to toe. 

Except, Justin had a smile that he kept a secret from his brother. A smile you'll never see again. 

He's dead, and soon you will be too. 

"You deserve to die for what you did," he tells you, pressing the gun right up to your forehead.

"You don't have to do this, Ethan," you call out his name, a name he hadn't heard in so long. "We can find you help, we can-"

"Shut up, bitch!" He screams, frantic, "there's no fixing this! Justin's dead, all because of you!" 

"I'm sorry," you plead, telling him the words he wants to hear in hopes of de-escalating the situation, "I'm sorry I killed him. I should've never fallen in love with him. I promise, I'll never love anyone again. Anyone I love will end up dead, so I swear it will never happen again." 

You watch as Ethan's expression changes. Does he believe you? He seems distracted. 

Your hands go for Justin's gun, a small gun that he always has tucked where he thinks no one will ever find. 

No one, except you. 

"I will make sure you never love again," Ethan asserts, "I will make sure that no one comes close to you, because the moment they do, _they're dead._ "

"Okay," you nod, gripping the gun in your hand, waiting for an opportune time to strike, "you can follow me. Watch me. Make sure I stay on track. I promise I will. I'll never love again. I'll keep our promise this time." 

You watch as Ethan then lifts the gun away from your head and you breathe a sigh of relief. 

If only said relief lasted longer. 

A voice yells down the alleyway, saying, "hey, what the hell do you think you're doing with her!"

Before you can stop him, Ethan turns and immediately shots three bullets into the man you were supposed to hand off jewelry to. 

A father of two, with a beautiful wife. All they wanted was their jewelry back so they could pawn it themselves. They needed the money, desperately.

Now, they just lost everything. 

All because of you. 

You pull your hand away from hiding and shoot every bullet in the gun into Ethan's chest in quick succession, without even blinking. There are only five rounds, but you hope it was enough to kill him. He drops his gun as he hits the floor, surprised at your actions. 

You stand up over his body, watching him bleed. He stares back at you with a poor attempt at kind eyes, "Y/N…why…I thought…" 

"You forget, Ethan," you say in a cold tone, "you don't exist. Your records have been wiped. There will be no one to mourn your death. Justin will die a hero of the nation and you will die a ghost. A ghost who killed his brother." 

"Y-You," blood starts to pool in his mouth but he spits it out as he shouts, "you killed him, you fucking liar!" 

Ethan lets out a series of disheveled screams, pounding at the ground with his fists, before you watch as the light leaves his eyes, his body completely still. 

A sight you will never forget. 

It will haunt you every time you close your eyes and you feel nauseous. 

Stepping away from the scene to regain your composure, you think of what to do next. You decide you need to go about this in the professional route. 

The FBI would be able to cover it all up. 

You then pull out your phone, glancing back at the situation, before dialing Kate, stating, "Agent Turner is dead. Both of them. Personal dispute over the drop, Ethan then killed Justin. I put him down afterwards. There is one other body on the scene, an unlucky pedestrian. We can cover up this situation as a robbery gone wrong." 

"Oh my," Kate sighs over the phone, "it was predicted this kind of dispute was inevitable. I'm sorry you had to be there for it, are you okay?"

"I don't know yet," you blink, trying to get the images out of your mind, "I haven't really processed any of it." 

"Alright, I'll send EMTs for the cover up," Kate informs you over the phone, "I should've never approved this drop, I should've listened to you."

"We couldn't have known he'd be after his brother," you stare down at Ethan, who is bleeding out. "The project has had mixed results. It can tear one down mentally having to be someone they aren't for that long." 

"I'll have to scrap it soon," she lets out a sad huff, "too much distress." 

"Right, should I wait here?" You ask, though you're hoping she won't make you look at these dead bodies any longer.

"Come back to the office," she instructs, "we have a long night of paperwork."

"Got it," you shut your phone off there.

You take one last look at Justin and Ethan, your heart sinking in your chest, before turning away. 

Maybe Justin was right. 

Maybe it was time to leave the FBI…and try to forget all about what happened. 

Lock the memories away in your mind and throw away the key. 

If only you had realized that by doing that, you could never open your heart back up. 

Not until Aaron Hotchner came into your life and swept you right off your feet, making you feel things you never thought you could feel again. 

What you wouldn't give to see his face just one more time… 

… 

… 

… 

It was noon when Garcia got an email with the live feed on it. There's only 12 hours left to find you, to solve this case. 

However, the key to unlocking this case is to figure out how Justin Turner survived being shot.

To do this, Garcia and Hotch had to watch the live feed from the start. They watched you get beaten up. 

Then, they watch Justin stare into the camera, with eyes so evil, it sends chills down Garcia's spine. 

"To think, they reported that he was so kind, the best of the best," Garcia looks away for a moment at his profile. 

"Wait, Garcia," Hotch points to the feed, "he's talking. Do we have audio?" 

Garcia shakes her head, but she rewinds the clip, seeing if she can interpret what he's saying. 

"There's no audio, but if I'm reading his lips correctly…" 

"'It's okay, Justin. I'm making her keep her promise,'" Hotch reads them for her, then Garcia pauses the video. 

"What could that mean? He's…not Justin?" She tries to understand his word choice.

"Keep playing it," he instructs, "maybe he says more." 

As she resumes the video, Hotch and Garcia watch as a disgustingly sadistic face morphs into a remorseful, pain-filled expression. Then, he begins to say something in a panic, looking at his bloody hands.

"'Ethan, what did you do!'" Garcia says aloud.

"Split personality…" Hotch watches as 'Justin' runs out of the room and comes back with medical supplies, taking care of your wounds. He holds you tenderly in his arms after he's tended to you, crying. 

"Sir, I don't think you should watch this next part," Garcia urges Hotch. "Let's just say that whoever Ethan is, he comes back…" 

Hotch turns away, knowing that if he sees you get hurt again, he might lose his composure. He was glad there wasn't any audio. 

If he heard your painful cries, he might just break down completely. 

Garcia's voice brings Hotch back from his thoughts, "I just checked to see if Justin had any siblings and I think I may have stumbled down an FBI rabbit hole…" 

Hotch reads what's on Garcia's screen. It details a project that the FBI had started for undercover agents. 

The Twins Project, recently redacted at the request of Kate Joyner, who had passed away during a terrorism B.A.U case a few months ago. 

"When you're entered into the program, one twin is completely wiped from existence, no birth records, fingerprints, etc," she explains, "they essentially _become their twin_ , trading off between missions. It was supposed to help with the mental exhaust, but the project was shut down after there were too many cases of infighting." 

"So the Justin people have met, half the time it was his brother," Hotch stares at the information, completely baffled. "Their lives were never separate, they were practically joined at the hip." 

"It explains the split personality disorder Ethan is going through," she lets out a sigh, "imagine having to pretend to be your brother for that long. They both joined the FBI right out of college." 

"Around the same time Y/L/N did," Hotch comments, "thanks, Garcia. I'll brief the team. If you can…monitor the live feed."

"I'll try, sir," she nods, not excited to watch your painful expressions for the next few hours. 

Hotch presents Garcia's findings to the team then finalizes the unsub profile. 

"Ethan Turner, our unsub, is Justin's twin brother, an FBI-trained, undercover operative with experience in arson terrorism. Unlike his brother, Ethan has no feelings of remorse and exhibits the signs of sociopathy. He mimics Justin's personality, most likely because he is incapable of emotion himself. However, his inability to detach himself emotionally from his brother has manifested itself as a split personality disorder. It is probable that he believes by doing this, he is keeping Justin alive. So, to answer the question that he had left for us, Ethan is the one who killed his brother, Justin. But, Ethan believes that Y/N is the real killer. She is his stressor." 

"'To me, he wasn't anything. To him, I was everything' is what Y/N had told us before she was kidnapped," Rossi tells the team, "maybe their relationship went deeper, just not in Ethan's favor. He was in love with her."

"But she was in love with Justin," J.J interjects, "so Ethan had to take Justin out of the equation so that he could become Justin."

"I don't think he meant to kill his brother that day," Morgan analyzes, "I think he meant to kill her." 

"Perhaps his brother got in the way and he accidentally shot his brother," Reid theorizes, "and the guilt was so overwhelming that he blamed the only other person at the scene."

"She didn't keep a promise," Hotch tells the team what he had read off Ethan's lips, "he's vengeful not only about his brother's death, but he has a personal vendetta." 

"Y/N told me that her only serious relationships were in college," Prentiss chimes in. "So she didn't view her relationship with Justin/Ethan as anything serious."

 _Promise me you won't fall in love with me_ , your words ring in Hotch's ear. 

"She promised not to fall in love with either of them," Hotch concludes, "and Ethan must assume she broke that promise, prompting him to eliminate her, but mistakenly taking his brother's life instead." 

"And now he's back, after six months, why?" Rossi asks. "Ethan could've killed her anytime. He's a ghost. After Justin died, there were no records left of Ethan. He could do whatever he wanted, and yet he laid in wait, watching, stalking, why?"

Hotch knew the answer to that question. The photos on the wall…they only started _after_ you had met Hotch. 

He was the stressor. 

Ethan believes you're in love with Hotch. 

That's why he tried to kill both of you. 

However, what Hotch has realized is that Ethan chose not to kill you both that day. He chose to crash that car somewhere else. He wants to kill you, _but on his terms_.

"He wants a shootout," Hotch answers, everything finally adding up in his mind, "just like what happened to his brother. He wants to recreate the same scenario." 

"But that would mean someone has to fill Justin's role," Prentiss then looks at Hotch, "do you think…" 

"We work together, I drive her here, she lives in my house, we went to the mall together yesterday. He must assume somewhere in his delusion that we're in love," Hotch tells the team. "To him, I am just like Justin. I'm getting in the way of his love for Y/N and he has to kill me before he can kill her. He needs her to watch the man she loves die."

"Now that's just…terrible," Morgan lets out a sigh, saying, "I talked with Joey. He said that Y/N had gone through something, but he didn't know what. She completely retreated, focused only on business. She never went out. She never saw anyone. She never lived her life." 

"She was afraid to," J.J says sadly. "She watched the man she loved bleed to death at the hands of his own brother. She doesn't think she deserves to be loved by anyone, after causing his death."

_I watched him die. I was there. I saw him bleed out._

"She thought she killed him," Hotch realizes, his words shocking everyone, "the story she told Maria, it was partially true. She shot Ethan in the chest. She cried over Justin's body. Somehow, Ethan survived being shot." 

"Then who is the robber?" Morgan stares at the additional dead body.

"A man in the wrong place at the wrong time," Reid concludes, "it would make sense that he heard the gunshots, came towards the noise and Ethan shot him because he had witnessed the murder. The man dies and takes the blame for the entire case. To cover up the failure of the Twins Project, the FBI made sure that Ethan was completely erased, which includes his involvement in this murder." 

"So, not only does Ethan want us to solve his brother's murder, he wants to bring the Twins Project to light," Rossi deliberates. "He wants people to know that he existed, that the FBI tossed him aside the moment he went rogue." 

Hotch stares at the clock. It's 2pm. 

"When did the murder take place?" Hotch asks. 

"5pm," J.J reads off the case notes. 

"We don't have until midnight," Hotch tells the team, "I know where he is going to be." 

The team scrambles to get on the jet, flying to NYC. Ethan wants a shootout where it all happened. 

Where he murdered his brother… 

… 

… 

… 

You slowly wake up and your eyes widen at the sight of Ethan staring lovingly at you. But, the way he looks at you, those aren't Ethan's eyes. 

"I'm here, Y/N," he says in a kind and gentle voice, "I'll protect you." 

He smells like rubbing alcohol and you notice then that your wounds have been treated. 

You hate the look in his eyes. Those are his dead brother's eyes. 

"You can't protect me," you tell him, "you're dead." 

"No, I'm right here," he pulls your hand up to his heart, making you feel his heartbeat, "I'm alive."

He then smiles that sweet smile that only made your heart ache more. 

"You have to let him go, Ethan," you plead, "Justin's dead."

"I'm not," he shakes his head, "I'm right here."

"No, you're not here," you say with tears falling from your eyes, "I watched you die. I watched him pull the trigger." 

"Ethan wouldn't hurt me," he disagrees with you, "he wouldn't."

"He did," you choke back a sob, " _he killed you._ "

Suddenly, his expression changes almost instantly as the rage fills his eyes, his hand gripping your throat again, slamming you down to the ground, screaming, "you killed him! You killed him! You killed him!"

You nod your head, confessing, "I did. Justin was dead the moment I fell in love with him."

Then, Ethan punches you straight across the face, knocking you out cold. He huffs, staring down at your lifeless body. 

"You promised," he lets out into the air, "you promised you wouldn't fall in love. You broke that promise. You were going to marry him. You were going to leave me all alone. You took Justin from me. _You killed him_. I just pulled the trigger. I had to. I had to…" 

Tears fall from his eyes, his bloody fists are clenched tight. He had to do this. You deserve this. 

You deserve to die for what you did and you will. 

If he has to suffer this endless cycle of pain, he will take you down with him. 

He loves you, after all. 

And love makes you do crazy things… 

You wake up from your daze a few hours later, pain filling every inch of your body. Your breaths are slow, it's hard to breathe. It's hard to see. You must have a black eye, or close to it. 

Suddenly, you hear the door open and you're immediately dragged out of the cell you were in and thrown into a car. Ethan has your hands bound and you can't fidget at all. All you want is the energy to open the door, to fall out of the car, in hopes you can get away. 

"It ends here, Y/N," he tells you, his hand on your hair, gripping it tightly, "this is when you die."

You nod, knowing that such a death is inevitable. You knew where Ethan was taking you. 

It had taken you a while to figure it out through all the mental fog, but you retraced your steps.

Ethan had come behind you in the restaurant, injecting you with a sedative, before dragging you outside. He then released the gas bomb he had prepared and blew up the building, to stage his getaway. 

After, you were on the road for four hours, driving from Quantico to NYC. You wake up from your daze when you're thrown into the room, an interrogation room in a former safe house for undercover operatives, pain setting in from the harsh toss. 

That's when you see Ethan again and he beats you up countless times, knocking you out until now. 

If you're correct, then it's almost 5pm. 

Hotch never had until midnight to find you. Ethan had thrown that in as a diversion. 

Classic misdirection. 

You had to hope that Hotch figured it all out, but a part of you hopes that he didn't.

If he didn't, then you could die here. 

You weren't afraid of dying, after all. 

If you were dead, then Ethan can't haunt you anymore. 

You'd be free from him, forever. 

And, if Hotch did find you, then it only means that he could get hurt too. 

You didn't want anyone else to get hurt because of you. Not after Justin, not after that poor man who just happened to be there. 

You can barely face the family. You just send anonymous donations to them in the post, in memoriam of their father who lost his life that day. 

Ethan should've been dead. You saw him die. 

How did he live? 

You can't dwell on that anymore. 

What's done is done. 

He's come to kill you, like he wanted to all those months ago. 

"When you kill me," you breathe out through painful breaths, "will it all be over?"

"When you're dead," he replies, letting go of your hair roughly, "the world will be a better place." 

You lean your head back against the car seat, trying to savor the last moments of your life. 

You think back to being with Hotch. You tell yourself that there was no love there, but then you remember the night you both drank whiskey and he held you so close, so kindly. 

What you wouldn't give to go back to that night and tell Hotch everything, to tell him your truth. 

There was a reason why you couldn't love him and you wonder if Hotch knew it now.

You would've fallen in love with him in a heartbeat, if only you could… 

"Your friends are here," Ethan says before dragging you out on his side of the car, a gun pressed to your temple. 

He's right. 

The entire B.A.U team was here, at the other end of the alley. 

Hotch, Prentiss, Rossi, Morgan, Reid, J.J, Garcia. 

They were your friends. 

Tears run down your face, regret filling your heart. You wished you could've spent more time with them. You wished you could've solved more cases with them. 

You wished you got to be their friend… 

"Let her go," Hotch commands, his gun pointed straight at Ethan. "We solved the case."

"Tell me what you've solved, Supervisory Special Agent Aaron Hotchner," Ethan gives Hotch the floor, but his gun presses tighter to your forehead, "but if you get even _one_ detail wrong, a bullet goes through her head!" 

Hotch swallows, but he holds himself up confidently, not wanting you to be afraid. Then, he details the case for Ethan to hear, "your question was: 'who _really_ killed Justin Turner?' The answer is Y/N. She killed him the moment she fell in love with him, the moment she separated the two of you. Even though you pulled the trigger, she was the one who killed him. It's all her fault, this mess. You aren't to blame. You didn't mean to kill that man, or those girls. They just looked so much like her. It's Y/N who deserves to be killed. _So, let me kill her_."

Hotch's words strike a nerve in you, your eyes widening, staring right at him.

 _Hotch, don't do it,_ your eyes beg. 

"She broke your promise, right?" Hotch asks, turning back to Ethan, "she fell in love with me, when she didn't deserve to love anyone. She killed your brother after all. How could I ever love a murderer? She broke my heart, just like she broke yours, Ethan. She broke it the moment I found out the truth about her. So, what better punishment than letting me, her love, kill her, while I fully despise her? It's what she deserves." 

Before you could get a word out, Ethan shouts, "how would you do it?" 

Somehow, Hotch's words have intrigued him. You don't know if you would've played this game with him, but perhaps Hotch knew Ethan better than you did. You look at Hotch, wishing he could give you some kind of sign, telling you what kind of play he's trying to pull off… 

"I would kill her the same way she tried to kill you," Hotch announces, "except, I wouldn't miss. One clean shot through the chest, letting her bleed out on the pavement until the life leaves her eyes. I'd actually be smart enough to make sure she was really dead." 

_Ouch_ , you think, but you understand the sentiment. 

You could feel the tension in the air. The standoff. The air is still for a moment. The world feels like it has completely stopped. 

To think, Hotch would be the one who kills you. You would've never guessed that. 

Ethan takes a deep breath before turning his eyes on the rest of the team, saying, "there are six girls, each sitting in a different rigged car nearby. I've set the bombs to detonate in ten minutes. What they don't know is that all they have to do is get out of the car. Someone should go tell them, before it's too late." 

Quickly, the team leaves, having no time to waste, leaving you and Ethan behind with Hotch. 

"Tell me what you want me to do to her," Hotch gestures for Ethan to take command as he slowly steps closer. Ethan allows him the space and Hotch is in reach, but Ethan holds you steadily against him. 

Ethan's mouth curves into that sadistic smile again as he orders, "I want you to tell her how much you hate her. I want that to be her final memory." 

"That's easy," Hotch scoffs, glaring at you. "I hate you, Y/N, you fucking murderer." 

"I know," you say back with a choked breath. 

"I've always hated you," he continues. "Your attitude. The way you walk around as if you know everything. The stupid pickpocketing. You act as if you're better than everyone else, stealing what you will, seducing anyone in your path. You mean nothing to me now. You were just someone I could easily fuck."

You nod, hearing his words. 

"You deserve to die," Hotch tells you, his gun pointed right at your chest, right in the heart. "You deserve to be killed by the man you love." 

Then, in that moment, with your eyes locked on his, you say for the very first time, "I love you." 

Then, a gunshot is fired. 

The blast knocks you out of Ethan's arms. You drop to the ground, pain filling your senses as your head collides with the pavement, shock overwhelming your system. 

Then, the last thing you see are Hotch's eyes. 

Those beautiful, loving eyes. 

His eyes tell you what he couldn't say out loud. 

_I love you too._

The memory sticks in your mind as your chest burns. A single gunshot to the heart, the sensation throbs like a heart beating rapidly. 

You're drowning in the feeling. 

Is this where it ends? 

Or, _is this where it begins?_

You clutch your chest, then look at the palm of your hand. 

_There's no blood._

It was a blank, there were no bullets in that gun. 

Hotch fired a fucking blank at you. 

_Ballsy motherfucker._

The moment Ethan turns to check if you're bleeding out, Hotch tackles him to the ground, knocking the gun out of his hand. In your daze, you hear the struggle and the grunts. 

Both men fight furiously, bodies clashing against the pavement, spit and blood flying everywhere. Ethan punches Hotch in the gut, Hotch slams Ethan against the wall, before Ethan sends him tumbling to the ground. 

Then, Hotch overpowers Ethan, pinning him down beneath him, holding him right where he wants him. 

"You're a piece of shit," Hotch punches Ethan across the face, beating him to a pulp as he exclaims, "how could you beat and blame a woman for your own fucking mistake! You're nothing but scum, you never deserved Y/N's attention. She owes you nothing, you worthless coward. That's why she would've never fallen in love with you and that's why you're going to rot in fucking jail for the rest of your miserable life and watch from those iron bars as Y/N lives her life, filled with love and happiness, _far away from you_." 

After a well-deserved beating, Hotch handcuffs Ethan, leaving him completely passed out on the ground, bloody, bruised, but not dead. 

As much as Hotch wanted to kill him, he knew that isn't what you would want. And, in this moment, you're the most important person to him. 

"Sorry for scaring you," he comes up to you, undoing your restraints, freeing your hands, "I wanted to warn you but-"

You quietly shut him up by pulling him in for the tightest hug, feeling his warm body against yours. You break down, crying in his arms, clutching his back, your tears and blood staining his shirt. Hotch wraps his arms securely around you, giving you the comfort you need, rubbing your back and kissing your head. 

"I'm here, Y/N," he reassures you, "I got you. You're safe now." 

You pull away for a moment to say, "Hotch, be honest with me…" 

"Of course," he stares kindly into your eyes, "what is it?"

Then, with a soft smile on your face, you ask, "how disgusting do I look right now? I must look like an absolute mess!" 

Hotch stares at you in complete disbelief. He can't believe you can make a joke right now, which makes you laugh. 

"You look pretty gross," he tells you honestly and you shove him away from you playfully, "what! You asked!"

You chuckle, then press your forehead against his, a smile never leaving your lips. He smiles back, his arms still around you, holding you gently. 

"Did you mean what you said earlier?" He says quietly into your ear. 

You lean forward and answer, "of course... _not._ I hate you, you fucking shot me!"

Hotch rolls his eyes, picking you up in his arms, then replies, "and I'd gladly do it again."

"Fuck you!" You exclaim. 

"Maybe later," he gives you a wink and you're completely shocked. 

To think, Hotch learned how to make a joke! 

The team comes back a few seconds later with the six girls, all as explosions ring out in the distance. It's scary how much they do look like you, except less beat up. 

Morgan quickly runs past you and Hotch, going to apprehend Ethan, wanting a piece of him to himself. 

Hotch carries you to the ambulance, helping you sit as the medics treat your wounds and his own.

Luckily, it looks a lot worse than it actually is and you should be cleared to work in a few days. 

The team then gathers around you and Prentiss is the first one to pull you in for a big hug.

"I'm so glad you're okay," she says to you. 

Everyone is thankful to see you're still in one piece and it feels good to have a team that cares so much about you.

You smile at all of them then announce, "alright, I promise, no more secrets. I'm an open book from now on."

They all chuckle, happy that you're back to your normal self. 

"The medics say you should take a few days off," J.J tells you, patting your shoulder.

"Maybe take a small vacation?" Garcia suggests. 

"I could use one after those cases," you answer with a grin, "just promise you guys won't get into too much trouble without me." 

"Glad to hear you'll be coming back," Morgan puts his hand on your shoulder, squeezing it comfortingly. 

"I'll kind of miss having my badge stolen," Reid jokes. 

"You better," you say, pulling his badge out of your pocket, making him chuckle. 

"Take the time you need," Rossi asserts, "we want you back, but when you're ready."

"Got it, sir," you nod your head.

You'll take a nice break and then come back tougher than ever, knowing that you have nothing left to fear. Your past demons have been locked away, never to be seen again.

"Ready to fly?" Hotch asks you and you hop off of the ambulance gladly, following behind him. 

You sleep through much of the airplane ride and the drive back to Hotch's house. He offers to carry you inside but you decline, wanting to take every step you can. 

There is a weight lifted off you now. You're free now, to be happy. Every step is filled with a new sense of purpose, a new sense of life. 

"So, what are you going to do during your vacation?" Hotch asks you as you enter the house. 

You walk up to him, taking his tie in your hand, pulling him towards you, before answering, " _you_." 

"Good choice," he leans forward, letting you pull him in for a much needed kiss. 

When your lips meet his, everything feels right in the world again. Your painful memories begin to melt away as you fill them in with warm moments spent with Hotch. 

You feel completely content, ready to see what the future holds. 

As long as that future had Hotch in it, with his greedy hands and his piercing eyes. 

You wouldn't mind being completely entangled by him… 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "In order to rise from its own ashes, a phoenix first must burn." - Octavia E. Butler
> 
> I hope you all enjoyed the ride, I know I did! This fic comes to a close, but the story is far from over! If you liked this reader's personality, please let me know! I'd love to keep writing more fics in this series since there's still a lot left to explore, especially her dynamic with Hotch! 
> 
> Thank you to everyone who has taken the time to read my very first Criminal Minds fic, looking forward to writing more ~

**Author's Note:**

> You can find me on tumblr @ [alice-rambles.tumblr.com](http://alice-rambles.tumblr.com)! I don't have any other social media, so if you want to chat/ask me anything, send me an ask on there!


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